


You Don't Turn Your Back On Family

by wordyanansi



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:28:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5294696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordyanansi/pseuds/wordyanansi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's an ordinary Friday afternoon, and it's only by chance that Clarke's home when it happens. </p><p>Turns out her father wasn't paranoid, he was rightly cautious, and now she's going to use every skill he taught her and call in every favour he's earned to get him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ordinary Friday

They come in the middle of the day on a Friday, and it’s only dumb coincidence that Clarke’s home. It’s that time of the month and her lower back’s been giving her hell and she figures she’s going to get more productive study done at home than in class. Her father, Jake, is doing his weekly tamper check, which up until today, Clarke would have said was paranoid. But… evidence to the contrary, her father is tied up in the lounge room and she’s listening in on the conversation using the intercom in her father’s closet.

 

“I’m telling you, you’re making a mistake. I don’t know anyone called Jaha and I don’t do that kind of thing anymore. I’m retired,” her dad says, his voice calm and steady. But he’s taking this seriously enough that she knows these guys are serious and professional.

“Bullshit. No way you’re out of the game,” one of the men spits, and Clarke knows he’s not the leader instantly. It’s in his voice. She probably owes her father an apology for all the times she complained about drills and these weird lessons. She’s pretty sure they’re about to save her life. And maybe his.

“We were told you could lead us to Jaha. We have no problem with you, but we will do whatever it takes to get the information,” another says, and he’s definitely in charge.

“I don’t have the intel you want,” Jake replies. Clarke swallows and takes a deep breath. She knows what happens next. Even if she hadn’t had the training, she’d seen enough television shows.

“Search the house. The daughter’s car is in the garage,” the leader says. Clarke takes a breath, grabs a slim knife from behind the skirting board and slips back across to her room. She sits on her bed, earphones in but no music playing, pretending to read until they find her. Her eyes dart around, and she’s noticing things quickly, filing them away for future reference as her upper arm is grabbed and she’s hauled down the stairs into the lounge room. Eyebrow scar, white, about 5’5”, brown hair longer than it should be for tactical work, brown eyes. Slight limp on the left. She looks at the leader. He’s taller, 6’ maybe 6’1”, dark skin, close cut hair, and she knows he’s dangerous. Another guy, at least 6’3”, white, scar on his neck and on his left hand, tattoo on his neck, light brown hair close cut. Definitely favours the right. Her eyes flick to her father tied to one of their dining chairs. His blue eyes bore into her and she wishes she knew what he was thinking. Regardless, she was ready.

“It’s going to be okay, Clarke,” Jake says quietly. But it isn’t, is it? Because he’s tied to a fucking chair and she’s going to be used as leverage. And if he really doesn’t have the intel, there’s nothing that can save her. She takes a deep breath. She’s got the element of surprise, a drop cache with weapons, money, a cell phone programmed with emergency contacts and a couple of fake IDs four blocks away. The closest safe house was checked last weekend, and she knows where the keys are hidden, and she knows that there’s a fueled motorcycle in the garage. She can do this. She licks her lips. The shortest guy still has hold of her upper arm, and she twists her arm, testing his hold and flashing her father the knife, warning him. Jake nods. She thinks she’s going to throw up.

“If you’re not going to talk, your poor sweet daughter might have to start suffering the consequences,” the leader threatens idly, stepping forward. Jake looks at him for a moment.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warns. The leader scoffs.

“You’re tied to a chair. What are you going to do? Ask nicely?” he says. He looks to the guy holding her arm. “Tie her to a chair.”

“Yes sir,” the guy says, or would have finished saying. But she drops the knife from her sleeve into her hand and uses her right hand to hit him with a palm strike, swivelling her body weight into it and then she slashes through his thigh where the femoral artery should be. He screams and goes down, blood pouring from his thigh, and the tallest guy aims his gun at her, so she dives into a forward roll, finishing behind the leader who kicks out at her, but she twists away to avoid the hit. She scrambles to her feet, positioning herself between the leader and the guy with the gun

 

Clarke freezes as her brain catches up to what she’s doing, the gap between instinct and adrenaline. She’s breathing heavily and trying not to freak out. She can’t take the leader out without making herself a target for the guy with the gun and she knows it’s not going to be long between now and someone suggesting they take a shot at Jake if she doesn’t stop.

“Khao Yao,” Jake snaps at her. “Verticals, stay close.” It snaps her out of it. She takes a step back so she’s got room for the lead up to the knee bomb and comes at him close. His hands come up to block her, but instead he steps back, which is what she was hoping for, pushing him closer to the guy with the gun. Her knee lands without full power, but she uses her momentum to push him back, knocking the men against each other, sending them stumbling. While they’re still off balance, and she’s still moving forward, she drives the knife into the leaders stomach, but she’s not strong enough, not determined enough to do the damage she needs to, and he pushes her back. She loses the knife in the scuffle, but she doesn’t go down, planting her right leg hard behind her, keeping a fighting stance, hands up.

“Jesus, she’s a fiesty little thing,” the guy with the gun comments, and the guy she took down first is still on the ground screaming, and the leader tells him to shut up. Clarke swallows, thick, she’s not ready for this, not prepared. For all her father’s warnings and training, she never took it seriously enough and she’s straight up not ready. But she won’t look at him, keeping her eyes on the threat, and she can almost feel his approval for that. She wishes she wasn’t so scared.

“Kill her,” the leader says over his shoulder to the tallest one, he doesn’t break eye contact.

“In here?” the guy asks. The leader scoffs.

“What do we care about the fucking carpet. Put a bullet in her before she kicks your ass,” the leader snaps, and Jake huffs out a small laugh, and Clarke almost smiles.

“Alright, jesus,” the guy says, and takes his aim. Exit review, Clarke thinks. Front door past two guys, back door through kitchen past bleeding guy who could still bring her own if she’s not careful. She’s got a clear path the stairs, but that seems like a stupid choice. She won’t get down from the roof before they find her, and they don’t need to get close.

“Clarke!” her father yells. “You kill her and I’ll kill you, I swear to god.” He’s screaming. Clarke glances at him, taking a tentative step backwards. His hands. The window. She swallows again, takes a step to the side, watching the gun.

“Shoot her already,” the guy on the ground yells.

“Take the shot,” the leader snaps. Clarke watches the barrel. She’s not going to die.

“Dad,” she manages. She won’t cry. She can’t look at him.

“Go,” he yells. The gun goes off, missing her as she drops to the floor, shattering the glass and she dives into a forward roll through the window, over the glass, and runs.

 

 


	2. Safe as Houses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke tries to keep it together, and make it to the safe house.

Clarke takes the longest way to the cache that she handle. She doubles back over herself, hides in a bush and waits for five minutes to make sure she isn’t being followed. She counts out the seconds, and she tries not to cry. She knows she’s a mess. Her back has glass in it still, and she knows she’s bleeding. She’s got got twigs in her hair, and the lounge sweats and tank top she was studying in aren’t her best clothes. She’s lucky she was wearing ugg boots, that she has footwear at all. She’s lucky she was home, that her father wasn’t just taken and she’d have no leads to follow. She reviews what she knows. Three man, at least semi professional, looking for Jaha, and it’s got something to do with the agency. She knows she should keep moving, go longer. But she can’t. It hurts and she’s scared and she needs to make it to the safe house. She needs to get to the phone. It’s time to call in some favours.

 

The cache is still intact when she gets there. They’ve got four caches hidden across the city. This one is Clarke’s favourite though, because it’s a fake powerbox attached to a telegraph pole. It seems so obvious, like someone would check it or need to access it. But no one does. Power went down in the neighborhood once, and Jake thought someone from the power company would be sure to notice. But if they did, they did nothing about the empty box, and the cache has never been disturbed. Then again, their house had never been disturbed either, before today, and she gasps her relief, her body sobbing, but she holds back the tears. They aren’t useful and they cloud your vision - her father’s words, and he’s right. He’s going to be fine, she reassures herself as she checks the handgun is loaded. She shoves it into the waistband of her pants, safety on, for easy access. The rest she shoves back into the small backpack - cash, cell phone, key for the apartment, fake IDs. she hesitates over her father’s IDs. If he gets free, he knows this is where she’d come first. But then, there’s the safe house too. She leaves one behind: a driver’s license for James Colt. A message to let him know she’s safe. She shoulders the backpack, letting it hang against her side instead of press against the glass in her back. She doesn’t like being out in the open, and she looks like shit. So she calls a taxi to pick her up from a park just down the block, and hides behind a bush until it arrives, scrolling through the cell. It’s just a list of names that means nothing to her, and she can’t remember who is who. What she does know is, she needs help. There’s no way she can get her back clean herself, and she can’t go operational in to finding Jaha and helping her father with glass shards sticking out of her like a hedgehog. So she calls the first number listed: Blake.

 

“How bad is it?” a woman asks when she answers. Clarke huffs a laugh.

“I don’t even know how to begin answering that question,” she says. “Bad. I’m Cl-”

“I know who you are,” the woman interjects. “What happened?”

“Three men came to the house,” Clarke replies, because clearly there are some details she’s not meant to give on this phone call. She’s a little bit out of her depth here, because the phone is basically a burner, or so she thought. But this woman clearly has the number saved.

“You’re not the first,” the woman says. “Another friend passed away last week in similar circumstances.” Clarke’s throat closes and she takes a couple of breaths.

“He was alive when I left,” she says. “But I’m going to need some help with first aid. To start with. And then I’m going to do whatever it takes to save him.” The woman laughs.

“You’re just like him,” she says. “But I can’t help you. I took a bullet in the back on my last trip and I’m stuck in a chair. But I’ll send some people you can trust. They might be able to help.”

“How will I know it’s them? How do I know I can even trust you?” Clarke asks. The woman sighs.

“I’m sending my children. They’ll have my name,” the woman says. Clarke frowns.

“How do you know where to send them? I haven’t told you where I’m going,” Clarke tries.

“He’s got two safe houses in the city. Blue walls or green door?” the woman asks.

“Blue walls,” Clarke says, hesitant, is that really all the information she needs? Does her father have this information in his head for others?

“Good luck,” the woman says, and then she disconnects. Clarke takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. She is never going to complain about running drills with her father ever again. She’s never going to call him paranoid. And she’s going to learn how to memorise this shit so she’s not as useless as she currently feels. Game plan, she says to herself, get to the safe house, get the glass out of your back, get intel. You can do this.

 

The taxi arrives and she jogs over, checking left and right as she approaches. The driver looks horrified at her appearance.

“Jesus, lady, you okay?” he asks. Clarke gives him a grin.

“I will be. Can you take me to the corner of Lewis and Heather please?” she asks.

“Lady, you need a hospital or something. What happened to you?” the driver asks.

“I will give you a hundred dollars if you just get me there and don’t ask questions,” Clarke tells him. The driver shrugs.

“You got it, lady,” he tells her. He doesn’t say a word for the rest of the drive. Clarke uses the time to study the phone, as if the names contain hidden messages or answers. Blake, Collins, Green, Jordan, Miller, Reyes, Wick. All she knows is that she can probably trust whoever answers. Probably. They owe her father a favour, or they did. God only knows if they’re still loyal, or they can actually help her. She checks the inbox, no messages. And then, on a whim, the gallery. Jackpot. It’s not much, but it might be enough. The photos are of DVDs, but Clarke knows her father well enough to take the hint, and that they’re going to be in order of the contacts. If she’s right, she’s got a start. She flicks back to the contacts list, and then back the gallery. Mr and Mrs Smith, Ocean’s 11, Hackers, Breaking Bad, Die Hard, Iron Man, Inspector Gadget. Clarke reviews what she knows about these movies, trying to pick out the skills her father’s trying to tell her about, or warnings he might be trying to give. The cell starts shaking… except it’s her hands. The adrenaline is wearing off and she’s going into shock. She focusses on her breathing. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. In, two, three, four…

 

The taxi pulls up at the curb and Clarke chucks him the cash, and starts jogging the two blocks to the safe house. He calls something after her, but she ignores it. She’s going to need sugar if she doesn’t want to crash soon, and she’s going to need the med kit, drugs, if she’s going to keep moving and upright when she starts feeling the pain in her back properly. She enters the building and takes the stairs two at a time. When she reaches the landing on the second floor, instinct tells her to pull the gun out, and she does, flipping the safety off. She holds it pointing at the ground - she doesn’t need her nerves to be responsible for her shoot a cat or a nice old lady. She moves down the hallway cautiously, the safe house is the apartment in the alcove at the end of the corridor. When she turns into it, she finds a guy she knows she’s never seen before leaning against the door with his arms folded and a smirk on his face.

“Took you long enough.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have, actually (finally), finished plotting where this one is going to go! We're looking at ten chapters. But, of course, I said this with 'A Change in the Weather' and that was filthy lies. It gets away from me... and the chapters just keep getting longer as it goes on...
> 
> I've never written anything even vaguely like this before, so feedback is definitely appreciated. And I hope you enjoy it!


	3. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introductions and First Aid... Why does Clarke feel like she can trust him?

The gun is pointing at him before she even thinks about it.

“Who are you?” Clarke demands. The guy raises his eyebrows and his smirk deepens.

“Who do you think?” he asks, pushing himself off the wall. “I’ve been here for fifteen minutes.” Clarke scoffs.

“If you think that after the day I’ve had, I’m just going to give you the information you need to confirm your story, you’re sorely mistaken,” Clarke tells him, and they guy laughs, but he’s impressed.

“Good instinct. I’m Blake, Bellamy Blake, and my mother sent me. My sister will be coming a little later, she’s liaising with one of the agency contacts about what’s going on,” Bellamy tells her, showing her a med kit. “Apparently you need medical attention?” Clarke nods, and drops the gun, once again fighting the urge to cry, this time from relief.

“Yeah, I messed up my back going through a window,” she explains, walking past him to unlock the apartment door. He hangs back, watching her almost like a predator, and she wonders if this life is something he signed up for, or just something he inherited like her. She wonders if the children of the agency ever get to grow up normal.

“Shit. That is a lot of glass,” Bellamy comments and Clarke sighs.

“I know. Fortunately, the adrenaline is keeping me mostly numb,” she says, dropping the go-bag beside the couch. “Do you think I’m going to have to cut this top off or can I take it off over my head?” she asks, turning back to look at him. He’s attractive, olive skin, dark eyes, dark hair, tall, freckles she imagines he doesn’t love, and she hadn’t noticed that at first. She catalogues him, like she had the attackers in the house, storing away the details for future reference.

“Cut it off,” Bellamy replies. “And not even adrenaline is going to save you from the antiseptic sting.” Clarke smiles at him, and it’s real.

“Speaking from experience, obviously. Come on, let’s use the kitchenette. I’ll straddle a dining chair while you patch me up,” she says.

“You sound like you’ve done this before,” he comments as he follows her. She shakes her head.

“No, it’s just something my father said when we were at IKEA buying these chairs. Good angle for it, apparently,” Clarke says idly.

 

Bellamy says nothing as he cuts a straight line up her spine, and then carefully peels the top back. Clarke winces as several shards move and as some of the dried blood becomes unstuck.

“Sorry,” he murmurs.

“It’s fine,” Clarke replies, just as softly. She feels his fingers trace her skin for a moment, and then hears the rustling as he picks up the tweezers.

“How long has he been training you?” Bellamy asks as he removes the first shard. And she knows exactly what he’s doing. She’s been trained in this for med school. Classic distraction technique. But she goes along with it.

“Since my mother left,” she tells him. “I was twelve and pissed off and so he took me into the home gym and taught me how to throw a punch, and take one.” Bellamy exhales a laugh, and she can feel his breath on her skin, can imagine how close he is. It’s bizarrely intimate, but then what about this day hasn’t been bizarre?

“Did it help?” he asks. Clarke nods.

“Yeah. It did. And then he left the agency and slowly everything just became… more,” she says. There is a moment of silence, before she continues. “I thought he was paranoid. Weekly tamper checks, monthly checks on caches and safe houses. I thought, what is he expecting? When are we ever going to need this? But it was easier to humour him and… Christ. He saved my life today. And I had to leave him behind.” Her throat is tight, and Bellamy pauses in his work to place a hand on a patch of uninjured skin on her shoulder.

“You did the right thing,” he tells her, leaning forward. “If you hadn’t, you’d probably both be dead. They’ll probably keep him alive and use you for leverage to get information.” Clarke stares at the tessellating pattern on the linoleum.

“I know,” she replies. And she does. Doesn’t make it easier though.

“He would have wanted you to go,” Bellamy offers. Clarke doesn’t reply, just keeps staring at the linoleum. He goes back to pulling glass out of her back.

“I’m going to get him back, or I’m going to kill them all,” Clarke says quietly, her voice deadly serious. Bellamy pauses in his work, freezing.

“It won’t bring him back,” Bellamy tells her. “And you can’t come back from that either.”

“It’s just the way it is,” Clarke replies. Bellamy drops the tweezers and reaches for the disinfectant and antiseptic. He doesn’t give her any warning before applying it, and Clarke flinches, swearing.

“Sorry,” he says. Clarke rolls her eyes.

“Clearly, field medic wasn’t in the Blake training manual. You don’t have to apologise for it,” she tells him, and he snorts.

“Yeah, we come from a duct tape it and go family,” he says. “First time I’ve ever had to do this for someone before.”

“Well, you’re doing great,” Clarke replies. “How’s the bleeding?”

“Minimal,” he says, but he doesn’t sound sure.

“Take picture on your phone and show me,” she instructs and he does, leaning in close to her so that she can see the display. He’s warm, running hot, and with her back inflamed it’s almost uncomfortable. She catalogues the injuries, most are minor, a few deeper.

“The good news is I don’t have to get stitches from an amateur,” Clarke tells him, and he snorts again. “You just need to patch the larger ones with gauze. Time permitting I should get them changed every twelve hours, but I have feeling time’s not gonna be.” Bellamy gets back to work, patching her back.

 

“So you’re really going after them? You’re not exactly a trained field agent, Griffin,” he tells her, and he’s not trying to put her down, or warn her off, just stating facts. Clarke sighs.

“He’s my family,” she says. “I don’t know what that means to you, but to me it means that I’m not going to stop until I get him back.” Bellamy is quiet while he finishes the bandages.

“For what it’s worth, I’d do the same thing,” he says when he’s finished. “And I’ll do whatever I can to help.” Clarke looks over her shoulder and smiles at him.

“Thank you,” she says, soft and sincere. He doesn’t smile, just nods, and sets about packing up the med kit. She gets up and heads to the bedroom where she’s stashed some spare clothes to find a shirt.

 

When she re-entered the main living space in a black tank top and a jumper she had found that had her father’s smell, Bellamy was arguing in whispers with a ferocious and beautiful young woman.

“Blake Junior, I presume?” Clarke asks. The both turn to look at her, as if shocked that she was there in her own safe house.

“I normally go by Octavia, but whatever floats your boat,” the girl says, before turning back to her brother. “The trail is not just dead, it’s littered with dead bodies. You want to chase this down it will literally be your funeral,” she told him. She gave Clarke a glare for good measure before storming off the to kitchen. Bellamy sighs.

“She’s usually the friendlier one,” he defends his sister. “But the information we received… it’s not good news.” Clarke let out an incredulous laugh.

“How could it be? If it was easy I wouldn’t be here, would I?” she says, and it comes off as more hostile than she intended. Bellamy raised his hands in a placating gesture.

“I’m just saying. Everyone that has been linked to Jaha is dead, or ghosting. Except the old guard, who didn’t know the storm was coming,” Bellamy says. “I’m still in this, but you’ve got to know it’s not going to be storming a castle.” Clarke sits back on the couch, wincing as she adjusts herself to get comfortable. She licks her lips.

“Well if it’s storm, and the old guard doesn’t know… I guess it’s time we call everyone in. See if anyone wants to get proactive,” Clarke says thoughtfully. Bellamy looks at her in disbelief, and Octavia is smirking from the doorway, glass of water in hand. Clarke looks between them. “What? You said it wouldn’t be easy. I’m no field agent. I want my father back, calling in assets makes sense.”

“This is going to be interesting,” Octavia says, smiling like a cat.

“I thought we were going to get ourselves killed,” Bellamy says, dry. Octavia snorts.

“Oh, we are. But this is going to be interesting. Who’s in your roster, Blondie?” Octavia says. Clarke pulls out the phone from her pocket, not that she needs the reminder, and recites the list of contacts.

“Blake, Collins, Green, Jordan, Miller, Reyes, Wick,” Clarke says. “From what I can tell, we’ve got a couple of fighters, a hacker, someone from law enforcement, and probably a couple of engineers. And I think Collins is a grifter. Hard to tell, could be a mastermind, but I feel like it’s grifter.”

“How did you figure that out?” Bellamy asks. “Our cache phones just have names.” Clarke smirked at him, feeling vaguely superior for the first time today.

“Photo gallery. Seven pictures of seven different DVDs that I assume are in order of contact list,” Clarke explains. “Didn’t check it before I called, but you guys are Mr and Mrs Smith.” Octavia laughs.

“Accurate,” she says. Bellamy scowls. “C’mon, you know mom was a black ops in the day. Not like she raised us to be any different.”

“Assassins though?” Bellamy asks. Octavia shrugs.

“Still accurate,” Octavia comments. Clarke chews her lip thoughtfully.

“I wonder what Griffin is in your go-phones,” Clarke says. And then she shakes her head. “Never mind. I’m going to start calling in favours.”

“Wait, how do you know you can trust them?” Bellamy asks. Clarke raises her eyebrows.

“How do I know I can trust you?” she asks. He looks at her for a beat, but doesn’t have an answer. “Exactly. But these are the people Dad had in his go-phone. These are the favours he’s earned or the people he trusts. This is all I’ve got to go on.” She wants to add that she doesn’t know what else to do. Local law enforcement won’t know where to begin and by the time it gets kicked up the chain the trail will be cold. They’d cut her out, anyway, and she needs to be in this. She can’t just sit and wait.

“Make the calls,” Octavia says. “I’m going to rendezvous with Lincoln and let him know what we’re doing. I’ll let mom know too.” She picks up a leather jacket that had been chucked on the floor and walks out the door without saying goodbye. Clarke sees Bellamy shake his head out of the corner of her eye.

“She’s got this in her blood,” he says. “I worry about her.” Clarke raises her eyebrows.

“And you don’t?” she asks. It’s a challenge too, and she can see in his eyes that he knows it.

“No,” he says simply. “But you don’t turn your back on family.” There is a moment where Clarke wants to ask questions, find out who he wants to be… but it doesn’t matter. Because he’s right. So she nods once.

“You don’t turn your back on family,” she repeats. And then she dials the first number. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I'll admit it, I'm addicted to comments. You guys are amazing. Thank you. 
> 
> Hoping to keep my current schedule of every two to three days for a new chapter to get this one tidied away before I start working on some truly amazing prompts. 
> 
> [Wordy on Tumblr](http://wordy-anansi.tumblr.com)


	4. Calling in Markers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke makes some phone calls and assembles a team... now she just needs to figure out what to do with them.

“Well this is unexpected,” a male voice says when the call connects. Clarke has it on loudspeaker, and there’s something in the voice that makes Bellamy and her exchange a suspicious look. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Bellamy nods and mouths ‘definitely grifter’ and Clarke tries not to laugh.

“The shittiest day of my life,” Clarke suggests, and Bellamy’s trying not to laugh now, and it feels so ridiculous to be playing this game with him like this. But it’s helping.

“Well let me make it better for you,” the voice almost croons. “I assume this is the daughter?”

“Yes, it is. Your ‘friend’ has been taken. I’m going to get him back,” Clarke says, calmly. The man laughs.

“Of course you are,” he sounds amused. “Are you calling anyone else in?”

“Yes. I’m not stupid. But you might be useful. We’ll see if he was right to place his trust in you,” Clarke says, and she’s surprised how easily she’s taken to conversationally threatening people.

“I don’t know if it’s trust, exactly. He helped me with a problem. I owe him a favour,” the guy comments.

“I can only imagine how disappointed he’d be if you didn’t help his daughter out,” Clarke replies. The man laughs again.

“Where are you?” he asks. Clarke looks at Bellamy, and he shrugs. Clarke looks around for a moment. It’s burned anyway. You never use the same safe house twice. She tells him the address and hangs up. Bellamy’s looking at her strangely.

“You’re good at this,” he tells her. “Better than I thought you’d be. Mom said you weren’t going into the family business, figured you’d be different.” Clarke shrugs and gives a half hearted laugh.

“Dad trained me well. He didn’t… he didn’t want this life for me, but he wanted me to be able to handle shit if it came down to it,” she says. And it’s only half true, but she’s starting to wonder if half true is all there really is.

“She didn’t say what you were doing instead,” Bellamy asks without asking. Clarke smiles softly, because it’s been less than a day and it already feels like she’s not the same person who was sitting on her bed studying fussing with a heat pack.

“Nurse,” she answer softly. She can’t imagine going back to it like nothing’s happened. She shakes herself out of it and shrugs.

“It was a plan. Plans change,” Clarke says. And Bellamy nods.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Who’s next?” She’s thankful for the change in subject and dials the next number on loudspeaker again.

“Green. I’m pretty sure he’s a hacker,” Clarke manages before the phone is answered.

 

“Yeoboseyo. Orenmanida, Griffin,” the man answers. Bellamy and Clarke exchange a look of mild panic.

“Griffin has been taken. I need your help,” Clarke says, as slowly and clearly as she can. Bellamy gives her a look of disbelief but she shrugs it off. Seriously, she does not speak whatever that language was, and if he doesn’t understand English, there is no point in pretending meaningful communication is going to happen.

“Is this his daughter?” the man asks without an accent. Clarke closed her eyes with a moment of thankfulness.

“Yes, it is. I’m going after him,” Clarke begins. The man says something she can’t quite make out.

“I know where you are. I am far away. But my son will come. He will be there in two hours,” the man says, and then hangs up. Clarke looks from the phone to Bellamy. He shrugs.

“Well that was different,” Bellamy says. Clarke nods.

“So definitely hacker then,” Clarke agrees.

“So we’ve got you, who can handle herself in a fight and has some medical knowledge, O and I are hitters with contacts, a grifter, and a hacker,” Bellamy lists. “I have no idea what we’re going to do with these people when they get here, but we’re gonna be able to do something.” Clarke chuckles.

“Yeah,” Bellamy says thoughtfully. He’s about to continue when the go-phone beeps with an incoming message: “Green en route w Jordan.” Clarke shows it to Bellamy who shrugs.

“That’s interesting,” Clarke says mildly. He just shrugs.

“I know some of these people. I mean, not really. But the Greens and Jordans work in pairs generally, according to my mother,” Bellamy explains. She just hums her agreement. But really, there’s just so much that she doesn’t know. She’s still just hoping that she can trust the people she’s called already, the guy sitting in front of her, his sister, his mother, the rest of the numbers in the phone. There’s something in her that instinctively wants to lean into Bellamy, to trust him, but she also knows that she hasn’t really given her a reason to yet, except for taking the glass out of her back. She flicks her eyes back to him, and he’s looking at her, trying to get a read. And it’s another reason not to trust him. She feels so ill equipped for all of this. And, she wants her father. Needs him. And because she doesn’t have him, she needs Bellamy. It’s not a comfortable place to sit.

 

“We still have numbers to call,” Bellamy points out. Clarke nods, bringing herself back into the moment.

“I swear to god I will straight up murder if you drop that and you manage to survive the ensuing explosion,” a woman is yelling, and the background is full of clanging metal and grinding. “What?” she says into the phone.

“Reyes, I need your help,” Clarke says.

“Who is this?” the woman asks suspiciously. Clarke looks at Bellamy. No one else had asked this, and she’d not said her last or first name yet during a phone call. He mouths ‘caller id’, and Clarke nods.

“Check the Caller ID,” Clarke instructs. There is a moment of silence.

“Puta infierno,” she says. “I’m coming. Wick’s with me, I’ll bring him. He’s a stupid fucking engineer, but… he’s the best I’ve got.”

“I’m awesome and you know it, wrench monkey,” a man can be heard yelling in the background.

“I was not joking, you drop it, I kill you,” Reyes yells back. “I assume you’re not at home. So safe house with the motorcycle or safe house with that pathetic excuse for car?” she asks. Clarke tries not to laugh, because it’s exactly the kind of question “Iron Man” would ask.

“Motorcycle,” Clarke says.

“Sweet, give me an hour to make sure these idiots aren’t going to blow up my garage while I’m gone,” Reyes replies, and then hangs up.

 

Clarke looks at the phone for a moment.

“She sounds young,” Bellamy says. Clarke stares at the phone, trying to remember.

“I think… I think I’ve met her before. She is young… but she’s… a bit of a genius, Dad said,” Clarke says, thoughtfully. She remembers a Latina teenager fussing over the motorcycle during a safe house check when Clarke was thirteen.

“Well, this is the business for child geniuses,” Bellamy says dryly. “Are you going to call Miller?” Clarke sighs.

“I don’t know. I mean, I think he’s local law enforcement. But… do we need cops right now? I don’t want anyone here that’s going to stop me going after my father,” Clarke explains.

“And what about the crime scene at your house? You don’t think gun shots would have been called in? Or a neighbour would see the broken glass? It might be wise to give them a heads up, to someone we can trust, at least. Buy us some time,” Bellamy suggests. It’s logical, and Clarke tries not to freak out again, thinking about her trashed house and her father tied to that chair.

“You’re right, I guess,” she replies. “But if he’s still in the house and the cops come, they’re only going to make everything worse.” Bellamy looks at her again, trying to read her.

“You’re not exactly trusting, are you?” he asks. Clarke wants to rant at him about her day, wants to complain about shitty relationships and abandonment issues from her mother, and again, about the fact that her house was literally broken into not five hours ago. But she doesn’t.

“I’ve not often had reason to be,” is all she says, and then she dials Miller’s number.

 

“Captain Miller,” an older man answers. And then he pauses. “Fuck. I thought you retired.”

“He did. He was a target. I’m the daughter,” Clarke replies.

“Fuck,” the Captain says again. “Give me the summary.” Clarke sighs.

“The house was broken in by three men, at least semi-professional, requesting information on “Jaha”. When I left he was still tied to a chair and one assailant was incapable of walking. Shots were fired and there’s a broken window. I need you to keep people away from the house - I don’t know if he’s still there, but if he is you’ll only make it worse,” Clarke says.

“Understood. What’s your plan?” Captain Miller asks.

“I’m calling in favours so I can do whatever it takes to find out who has him and get him back,” Clarke says, her voice remarkably even.

“I can’t help you, not like I could in the past,” Captain Miller says. “But I have a son; a thief. He’s quite good.” Clarke and Bellamy exchange a look at the note of pride in the Captain’s voice. ‘Can’t hurt,” Bellamy mouths at her, so she shrugs.

“Do you know where the safe houses are?” Clarke asks. He chuckles lightly.

“Your father took many precautions for your safety, but he wasn’t stupid enough to trust law enforcement with his safe house locations,” he explained. Clarke nodded. It made sense. Too many people can know too many things in a precinct.

“I’m not exactly comfortable giving the information over the phone to law enforcement. You never know who’s listening, disposable cell phones and secure lines or not,” Clarke comments.

“Wise,” he agrees. “But it makes our situation more difficult.” Clarke looks at Bellamy. Clandestine meetings wasn’t ever really her thing. Bellamy looked thoughtful.

“I can do a drop,” he says quietly. “The thief could lift it off the mark.” But for all this was a good idea, Clarke didn’t really want to be left alone right now, and the thought of it made her heart beat a little faster. Even though she couldn’t really trust him, she remembered the intimacy his first aid had made her feel, and she didn’t want to lose the only thing resembling a comfort zone she had right now.

“There’s a cafe on Heather,” Clarke says into the phone. “Drip Ship. Tell him to order a peppermint mocha with no cream under your last name. The barista will give him the address.”

“Good luck,” the captain says, and then disconnects. Clarke sighs and dials a number from memory, Bellamy watching her closely.

“What are you doing?” he asks. Clarke rolls her eyes.

“Calling a friend,” she says. Bellamy raises his eyebrows.

“A friend you can trust? Because they’re going to know about you soon enough. What you do, where you study, who your friends are, where you drink your coffee. Anyone you tell puts us at risk,” Bellamy says. Clarke shakes her head.

“It’s a small risk, and one we need to take. Octavia is off grid, and we’re about to be inundated with more people I’ve never met before. I’m not bringing this person in, I’m just providing enough information that if Miller is any good, he’ll work it out. And if he doesn’t, then he’s probably no use to us,” Clarke snaps back.

“Fine,” Bellamy says, and she can tell he’s frustrated and offended as he storms off to the kitchen. She pretends it doesn’t matter and places the call.

 

“I thought we agreed we were done,” Lexa says when she picks up, her voice tight and frustrated.

“We are,” Clarke replies. “But I’m in trouble and I need your help.”

“Why is that my problem? You wanted our relationship kept a secret, then you wanted our relationship over, and it is,” Lexa snaps. Clarke sighs.

“And yet, I’m calling for a favour. I’m desperate and I don’t have a lot of choice,” Clarke explains, her voice tight. “My father’s been taken. I need you to pass on a message for me to someone who might be able to help.”

“And you haven’t called the police because?” Lexa asks, but she’s less hostile now, just a little prickly, and it’s as close to sympathy as Lexa gets.

“It’s… complicated,” Clarke says, awkward, and she’s not sure how else to continue. “But it’s to do with why he taught me to fight.”

“Secret agent shit, huh?” Lexa sighs. “Alright, where I’m going and what’s the message?” Clarke can see Bellamy pretending not to listen from the doorway.

“A guy is going to walk into the Drip Ship and order a peppermint mocha without cream for Miller. You need to tell him: ‘Lewis, one block up, second floor, third window back, red.’,” Clarke says.

“What does that even mean?” Lexa asked. “Who is this guy even?” Clarke fights an exasperated sigh.

“He’s someone that can help me. Say it back to me. ‘Lewis, one block up, second floor third window back, red’,” Clarke repeats.

“Fine. Let me write it down,” Lexa huffs. “Lewis, one block up, third-,”

“Second floor, third window, red,” Clarke finishes.

“Second floor, third window, red,” Lexa repeats, slowly as she writes.

“Thanks Lexa. I’ll owe you one. A big one,” Clarke says. “Please, just… it’s important.”

“Look, I don’t know what the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into, but just… be safe, alright?” Lexa says. “And I will expect an explanation at some point.”

“And you’ll get one when it’s over,” Clarke promises. “Bye Lexa.” And then she disconnects before Lexa can say her name. It’s made her paranoid, all these clandestine calls with roundabout information that seems to be more than just words. But she’s right to be paranoid, she reminds herself. It hasn’t been a kind of day that inspires trust.

 

“I can’t say trusting your ex right now is a good decision,” Bellamy says from the kitchen. “Do you want a cup of tea?” Clarke flops back on to the couch, trying not to wince as she hurts her back again. She’s surprised by the ache in her lower stomach - she’d forgotten why she was even home until that moment.

“Black tea, no milk or sugar,” Clarke replied. “Thanks. And she’s… she’s a bitch, but she won’t let me down. She’ll probably threaten to hurt Miller if I die or something.”

“She sounds interesting,” Bellamy comments as he switches the kettle on. But there’s something about his voice that isn’t entirely idle.

“Yes, well, her inability to communicate appropriate emotions was one of many reasons why we never should have tried dating in the first place,” Clarke comments. “But she was hot, and intense, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.” There’s something both strange and comforting about this conversation, and it’s the first time Clarke’s really talked about Lexa to anyone. There’s been a lot of firsts today.

“Ah yes, the hot-crazy scale,” Bellamy says dryly. And Clarke snorts a laugh.

“Got some experience there, huh?” she teases him. The kettle boils, muffling him, but she still makes out the words ‘something like that’. He re enters the room and offers her tea.

“You told her you’d tell her about it when it was over, didn’t you?” he asks softly, staring into his own mug. Clarke nods.

“Did you mean it?” he asks. And there’s something in his voice that makes her tell the truth.

“Almost,” she confesses. “But I’m…” she swallows thickly. “I’m not entirely sure there’s going to be an after this. For me, at least.” She doesn’t want to look at him, hates that she’s admitting weakness, but it’s true. It’s so fucking true and she’s so fucking scared.

“Hey,” Bellamy says, and he sounds so confident that she looks up at him, meeting his eyes. “I will get you through this. All the way.” The worst part is, she believes him.

“Thank you,” she says, but she means ‘I trust you’. She feels sick as they finish their tea in silence. Because, god, what if she’s wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like the Lexa cameo? 
> 
> And I'm sorry to the Finn apologists/lovers out there. But I'm twisting him a little as my grifter. I know he's just a teenager who screwed up his first relationship like teenage boys do sometimes, but I think he'd make a great grifter. So don't expect any Collins-love. 
> 
> AND I love Wick. Sure, Steve Talley's a dick, but I've loved Wick from when we found him with his arm trapped in a door singing 100 bottles of beer on the wall and right up until he carried Raven home. And I still love Wick.


	5. Arrivals

Their arrivals are staggered, and Clarke watches them with a strange feeling in her stomach. Green and Jordan arrive first, but they barely greet them, slumping onto the couch, Green with a laptop, and Jordan on a tablet, typing furiously. She suspects they’re playing a game, or at least that Jordan is, but she just makes them cups of tea and places them on the coffee table. Bellamy leans against a wall, arms folded against his chest, looking threatening. Clarke leans next to him, but says nothing, and her arms aren’t  folded. Wick and Reyes arrive mid argument, and they barely pause to say greet them. They attempt to incorporate Jordan and Green into their argument that seems to be about stoichiometry, but the boys are almost monosyllabic in their responses, but it doesn’t seem to deter the argument. It’s strange to Clarke that they all seem familiar with each other, and she feels like the odd one out. The one with the least contacts, the least knowledge, the least experience, and it’s an uncomfortable feeling given that she’s used to being top of her class: the best and brightest.

  
  


“Do you think this is going to work?” Clarke murmurs. Bellamy turns his head to look at her, and she gets it, it’s the first time she’s really shown doubt.

“Is it not working an option?” he asks her. Clarke finds a small smile spreading across her face at the confidence, the reassurance, the feeling that of course it’s going to be okay.

“It’ll work,” Clarke replies, and he smiles back.

  
  


Octavia arrives, slamming the door behind her, and she stops dead, looking at the gathered people. Conversations stops to look at her. Bellamy shifts off the wall, but stays in position, glaring.

“Well, I see assembling a crack team is working out well then,” Octavia says after a bit. Wick laughs and Raven chucks a throw cushion at her head. Octavia grins, predatory, and makes herself comfortable. Bellamy leans back against the wall, relaxing slightly. Clarke connects dots, Bellamy’s not as familiar with these people, not like Octavia is. She understands a little more now, about Bellamy’s worry, about the way this is in Octavia’s blood. He keeps himself trained, active, in case she needs him. You don’t turn your back on family.

  
  


Her thoughts are interrupted by a tapping at the window. Clarke starts to move to the window, but Bellamy holds her back, shifting in front of her, protecting her. She follows him and finds an olive skinned guy perched on her window ledge. He’s braced himself against the frame, and there’s a beanie tucked low on his head, sitting just above his eyes. Bellamy pauses, taking in the scene for a moment.

“It’s fucking freezing out here, do you mind?” he asks, letting go of the frame to indicate the lock.

“Open it then,” Clarke instructs, and she doesn’t miss the noise Bellamy makes for bossing him around, but he complies. The guy slides into the room with an odd grace and gives Bellamy a nod, and Clarke a smile.

“Assuming you’re Miss Griffin?” he asks. “I’m Miller.” Clarke smiles at him, remembering.

“We’ve met, actually,” Clarke says lightly, and Miller frowns, confused. “You tried to steal my backpack about a year ago.” Miller smirks at her.

“You kicked me in the nuts,” he replies, amused. And Bellamy snorts.

“Yeah, well, you’re lucky I didn’t call campus security,” Clarke says, and Miller huffs out a laugh, not quite believing it.

“It’s rare I get caught out. I should have remembered you,” Miller tells her and Clarke tries not to blush.

“Well,” she says, looking at the floor for a moment before back up at him. “You’re not the last one to arrive. Can I get you a cup of tea?” He grins at her, and then he pulls a takeaway coffee cup from the gap between the backpack and his back.

“Thanks, but I’ve already got a peppermint mocha to be getting on with,” he says, raising the cup to her, and he takes a sip before moving towards the others gathered in the lounge room. Clarke covers her laugh with her hand and looks up at a scowling Bellamy.

  
  


“There’s no honour among thieves,” Bellamy tells her quietly. “There’s probably a reason for that saying.” Clarke rolls her eyes at him.

“He’s the spawn of a person who owes my father a favour. Just like you,” she points out. “I can’t trust any one of them more than the other.” Including you, she adds silently, reminding herself. Bellamy frowns. “And he’s obviously quite talented,” she points out. He looks at her skeptically.

“You caught him doing a lift, he can’t be that good,” Bellamy retorts. Clarke sighs.

“Special training. You know I’m a different case,” she replies. Bellamy shakes his head.

“And you think the people we come up against for this won’t be? He’s not the best, he’s not the brightest, and we’re going to war against we don’t know who for god only knows why to get your father back. I just… I’d rather have people I could trust,” Bellamy replies, his voice gruff and frustrated.

“I don’t know any of you. And you don’t know any of them. What’s your problem here, Blake? Because if you have one, you can leave. I don’t need to fight you as well,” Clarke bites back. Bellamy looks away.

“I told you I was going to get you through this, and I meant it,” he tells the floor. “I’m just… warning you. Be careful with these people.” Her jaw tightens and she tries not to take it as a criticism he didn’t mean. Because she’d been being careful. As careful as she could be. And… options-wise… it’s not like she had a lot right now. But… there’s something nagging at the back of her mind, and it snags, turning into words before she properly thinks it through.

“But I should trust you?” she asks softly. He looks at her sharply. “That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it? That I should trust you first, and those people second?” His mouth opens, partially, and she finds a moment of pleasure in his speechlessness. There’s a knock at the door and Octavia opens it, greeting the last member of the party: an attractive white guy in a suit. Clarke looks back to Bellamy.

“You’ve known me for an extra hour,” Clarke reminds him. “And it’s not that I don’t appreciate the first aid, or the help. And it’s not that I don’t trust you. But the reasons you’re giving me to not trust other people? They’re the same reasons I shouldn’t trust you.” He keeps staring at her, but she just walks away, her point thoroughly made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm winding up the writing of this story, and I think the thing I've really noticed how I've tried to avoid the cliched tropes. It's very different than writing the romance or slice of life realism that I normally write. A trope happens there, and you play it up and make the characters aware or you put so much emotion into it that it stops being a cliched trope and takes readers out of that mindset. But this, writing a more secret agent au... the tropes can't be played up like that or it takes you out of the story. You need to be kept on your seat a little, you need odd little twists and little side moments that make you wonder if it will be relevant later, or that you take and use to try an infer back story. The way you build characters becomes more relevant because a character flaw in a slice of life is a bit whatever... but when they are under pressure like this, their flaws can get people killed. 
> 
> Anyway, it's been an interesting writing experience, and I'm loving all the feedback! Thanks guys, you're awesome.


	6. Meeting of the Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang's all together and all they need now is a plan.

As she approaches the lounge room, the group falls silent and they look to her. There’s something a little bit ridiculous about a fourth year nursing student holding the rapt attention of a motley crew of criminals or secret agents who owed her father a favour. She swallows down the hysteria, because she knows that’s what it is.

“Right, well, I’m Clarke, Jake Griffin’s daughter. Five hours ago, three armed men, at least semi professional, broke into our home and took him hostage to try and find information about ‘Jaha’, which I assume is a person. You’re all in the go-phone, which means that I should, theoretically, be able to trust you to help me get him back. Which is the plan. Get my father back,” she says. The group looks at her a little longer, and Clarke wonders if there is something else she is meant to say or do.

  
  


“They were from Sky Box. They’re a group of revolutionaries trying to expose corruption in the government, theoretically. But they’re basically just anarchists who pretend to have a noble cause,” Green says, typing on his laptop. “I’ve tracked a local base to a warehouse on the other side of town. Used to be a hydroelectric factory for spinning fleece into yarn and balling it. Which means there are extra access panels from the roof, and there are only two floors: the factory floor, which has about a twenty-five foot ceiling, and a standard office level on the second floor.”

“About twenty-five feet or actually twenty-five feet?” Miller interjects. “That’s a decent difference if I’m roping down.”

“Why rope down when you can walk in the front door?” the last arrival, Collins, asks. “I mean, that’s what I’m here for, right?” Clarke glances over at Bellamy, who looks back at her, and they silently confirm ‘grifter’ in their eyes.

“We don’t even know if they’re keeping Griffin there,” Wick says. “Surely we’re better off trading intel on Jaha to them to get him back? Less mess?”

“You’re so naive,” Reyes tells him. “They’ll have no reason to give him back if we give them the information. His only chance is us finding him before they give up on him and getting him out.”

“Not always,” Jordan says. “Too many factors in play to be sure. It’s worth reaching out to them saying that Clarke has information to prolong his life in the interim regardless. But, good point, do we even know where Griffin is? Was he taken from the house?”

“Yeah, I checked security on the way over,” Reyes replies. Green looks up, interested, and she throws him a USB stick. “Work your magic, Green.” His fingers are flying and he doesn’t look up as he speaks.

“I’ll track him through traffic cameras and surveillance as best I can, but it’s not like I can Person of Interest this. We’re basically in the suburbs, not downtown Chicago,” Green mutters. Jordan rolls his eyes.

“And then you’ll use private exterior security views and we’ll extrapolate as best we can,” Jordan says, more to Green than the rest of the group. Clarke nods, thoughtfully. She knows who took him and she’s going to know where her father is, it’s an excellent start.

  
  


“That’s not your only problem,” Octavia interjects, cutting into Clarke’s thoughts. She glances over at Collins. “And I have a feeling Collins here is going to be better suited at dealing with this one. Jaha’s not a person, he’s a military R and D AI experiment gone psychotic.”

“So he’s a program?” Bellamy asks. “We’ve got hackers, a mechanic, and an engineer. I think we’ve got this one, O.” Octavia shakes her head and Reyes scoffs.

“It’s so much more than a program,” Reyes says, hitting Wick’s arm.

“At this point he’s probably ingrained in a lot of systems, because an AI is a lot of information to be stored off site on a local secure server,” Wick explains.

“AND, it’s probably going to be on a government or military black site,” Reyes continues. “Because psychotic AI is a really bad idea to leave somewhere people can find it.”

“We’re talking layers of encryption, layers of security personnel, and no outside access,” Wick cuts in.

“And if we manage to shut it down or get access codes we’re probably going to become enemies of the state one through nine,” Reyes jumps back in. “Because either we’re going to shut down some operational systems, or we’re handing a way to get a worm into a blacksite and military systems to what is essentially a terrorist group.”

“It’s a really stupid idea,” Wick adds.

“Totally fucking stupid,” Reyes agrees.

“We can’t do nothing,” Clarke argues with a sigh. “I get it, I do. Crazy, bad idea. But if this is the shot I have at getting my father back… I need all the information I can get.”

“Oh we can totally do it,” Reyes says.

“We can’t do it,” Wick contradicts. Reyes hits him again.

“Not me and you, dumbass, me and him,” Reyes says, indicating Collins. Wick frowns while Collins raises an eyebrow.

“Willing to give working with me another go, Raven?” he asks, and Clarke knows instantly there’s history there. Reyes rolls her eyes.

“I owe Griffin. So do you,” she tells him. “And you know we can do this.” Collins nods.

“Yeah, I know we can do this. We’ll need a backup tech and a telephonic general. But easy,” he agrees.

“I’ll do it,” Wick says, looking between Reyes and Collins. Reyes bumps her shoulder against his, and Clarke thinks that might be affection.

“Asshole. You just don’t trust me to get shit done without you. I was hustling before you were designing your stupid gadgets,” Reyes tells him with a light glare. Wick opens his mouth to reply, but he doesn’t get the chance.

“Okay, but we still don't know where it is,” Bellamy points out.

“Actually we do,” Octavia cuts back in. “If you idiots would listen for thirty seconds instead of nerd ranting. I’ve got a friend who can get you in the door, but that’s about it without compromising his security clearance. I’ve got layout plans with me if that helps?” She pulls a USB drive out of the pocket of her leather jacket and flings it at Reyes, who catches it one handed.

“Nice one, Blake Junior,” she says, pulling out a small tablet from her back pocket. Wick digs around in his jacket for a moment and hands over a cable that she plugs into the device and then the drive. Collins moves to stand behind them as Reyes begins pouring over the specs.

 

“Look, I still think smart money is on contacting Sky Box and saying Clarke has info,” Jordan says, looking at her. “I think you’re right, we need to find out about Jaha. Because your father wasn’t the first of the old guard taken in for this.”

“I know of six others,” Bellamy says quietly. “Blake Senior hasn’t figured out how they’re connected yet, or if they’re all just previous agents. But she suspects an order or a connection, a pattern. Sky Box might be anarchists, but they’re not stupid.” Clarke looks at him sharply. She feels like he was keeping it a secret from her. Not that she didn’t know her father wasn’t the only one… just… trust. Kind of hard to come by when everyone specialises in keeping secrets.

“I don’t like Clarke contacting them directly,” Green says. “Have you seen the security footage? They are going to shoot first and ask questions later.” He spins the laptop around and Clarke finds herself watching herself be pulled into the room with her father by shortest assailant. She’s kind of transfixed, watching herself. The way she moves, graceful, powerful. There was more blood than she remembered, but she was aiming for the femoral artery. Looks like she hit it. She finds her attention drifting to the back of her father’s head, watching him follow the fight, direct her to the window, watching her leave.

“Holy shit,” Miller says. “I’m glad you just nutted me. That was brutal.”

“Damn Griffin Junior, Griffin trained you well,” Reyes comments, before turning back to her tablet.

“Huh,” Bellamy remarks, he’s moved closer to her, and he breathes his next words into her ear, just for her. “I guess I was wrong about how defenseless you were.”

“Nice knee bomb. Need to work on your verticals though,” Octavia comments. “Not quite vicious enough.” Clarke nods, like this is normal sane advice and her brother isn’t giving her goosebumps.

“Okay, so I doubt they got bird-face to a doctor in time before he bled out, they definitely seemed to have other priorities,” Clarke begins. Green shakes his head.

“They just left him behind. He made his own way out and went a different way. I didn’t bother tracking him, but I don’t think he’s going to be loyal to Sky Box right now,” he says. Clarke nods again, thinking.

“I take your point. But he might be a way in if we can find him. But I think Jordan’s right, we need to let them know that keeping my father alive is in their best interests if they really want this intel,” Clarke says. “I don’t want to storm the castle and find him dead if I could have avoided it.”

“How do we know he isn’t already dead?” Miller asks, he glances an apology at Clarke. “I mean, keeping a guy hostage is much harder work than killing him.” Bellamy shakes his head.

“In all other cases, it seems like they get held captive for a week before bodies get dumped not long after time of death. They’re making sure they don’t have the intel. Griffin’s probably safe for now when it comes to staying alive, but the corpses they are dropping are not pretty. We’re talking some serious old school torture techniques,” his sister explains before he can. She glances at Clarke, and Clarke’s trying to remember to breath. “Sorry,” she adds, but it doesn’t feel like she means it. “Point is, you want him back in one piece, you tell them you want to deal. We send the thief in to scope it out and make sure they’re keeping Griffin Senior in the warehouse while they’re away talking business with Clarke or whoever. We regroup, see what kind of a rescue is realistic, and hope those idiots don’t get their asses captured and compromise my asset.” Clarke swallows thickly. She can do this. She closes her eyes for a moment. Poker face, her dad’s voice echoes in her head. Serious, confident, dauntless.

“Well, I don’t know about you guys, but this is sounding more and more like a plan to me,” she says, and her voice as a note in it she remembers as belonging to her father. “Green and Jordan, you’ll go with Miller to help him get in and out of the warehouse. Do not, I repeat do not, leave him in there. If something goes wrong, get creative, but we’re not leaving him behind, are we clear?” Clarke asks. They guys nod at her, a little in awe. Miller grins.

“Awe, you care,” he teases. Clarke shakes her head.

“You’re a thief. You’re a valuable asset. I lose Green or Jordan, it kind of seems like I could find another hacker. Don’t know another thief,” she says. “And we might need you to get back into the warehouse when we do the extract. Highly unlikely this tour is going to be the one you can get him out safely. Don’t take stupid risks. Get in, get the layout, get out, clear?” Clarke looks at him, eyebrows raised, and his face is suddenly all business, he nods.

“Clear,” Miller agrees. Clarke turns to the three arguing quietly over Reyes’ tablet.

“I’m assuming you three have some highly technical plan to get the intel we need?” Clarke asks. Collins grins at her.

“Yeah, I’m going to walk right in and they’re going to give it to me,” he tells her. There’s something in his eyes that makes her want to instinctively, no, not instinctively, emotionally trust him. And it’s that same thing that pulls her back. She’s her father’s daughter after all. She glances at Reyes who rolls her eyes.

“Basically,” Reyes says. “Collins’ has some fake credentials that will be sold by being able to walk in the front door, and I’ll be his assistant. He’ll be so busy convincing people to give him a full tour that no one is going to question it once he’s in. If they do, we’ll have Wick on a diverted phone line verifying a high level inspection and authorising me to carry my tablet. Then we’ll just walk back out the front door.”

“Shock and awe,” Collins says with a charming smile. “Shock that I’m there, awe that I’m so high ranking. Works every time.”

“Except for when it doesn’t,” Wick scowls, and Reyes touches her knee briefly. There’s a story there, but now isn’t the time.

“Great,” Clarke tells them. Then she looks over at Bellamy, who is watching her carefully. “And the Blakes are with me.”

“Um, excuse me? I’m not signing up to this rodeo, sunshine,” Octavia cuts in. “I’m strictly intelligence over here. You want to do something sane like get a new identity and disappear, I’ll help you out. But I’m not getting killed over little miss inexperienced losing her dad.”

“Octavia,” Bellamy snaps at her. But Clarke shakes her head.

“No, I get it. You don’t want to help, I don’t want your help. No point in having someone whose head isn’t in the game,” Clarke says. “I appreciate your help, and all you’ve done.”

“He saved mom’s life more than once and you can’t even-,” Bellamy tries arguing, but Octavia cuts him off.

“Yeah, mom’s life. Not mine, and not yours. This is fucking insane. Bunch of amateurs who have never worked together before playing teammates over some shared allegiance to a guy I don’t know from Adam,” she bites back. Bellamy shakes his head.

“There but for the grace of god, go we, O,” he tries, this time sadly. Octavia sighs.

“Look, I get it, she’s hot, she needs you, family first and her father saved our family. But… you do know this is insane right. All of you,” she says, looking around the room. “Know how insane this is.”

“Griffin saved my life,” Reyes says with a shrug. “Literally and metaphorically. Changed everything. Even this shit doesn’t bring us close to equal.”

“Helped me make some better choices,” Wick adds. “Got recruited out of college thinking I was working for the good guys… now I actually am because of him.”

“Kept my ass out of jail more than once,” Collins adds. “Always said one day he’d need a favour, and here I am.”

“Saved my dad’s life more than once. And he probably wouldn’t have made it so high without the arrests he handed over,” Miller offers.

“He worked with our dads,” Green says. “Good enough for me.”

“He trusted them, when other people didn’t. Kept the faith. Wouldn’t have been hard to frame a couple of tech-heads for espionage,” Jordan agrees.

“More than that, roles reversed, you know Griffin would be there for us,” Bellamy says.

“What, blondie over there? Because she’s so much use now,” Octavia scoffs, and Clarke fights the urge to get mad, on top of fighting the urge to cry hearing these stories about her father. She always knew he was a good man… but… it’s different, hearing it like this.

“No, Jake. In a heartbeat. That’s why mom sent us,” Bellamy says firmly. “And I’m not trying to make you stay. But I think you’re making the wrong choice here, and it doesn’t honour our family, or the Griffins.” Octavia sighs.

“Look, I’ll hook the grifters up with my friend and then I’ll make the call to Sky Box. I’ll cover you, from a distance. But if it’s a choice between saving your ass or hers,” Octavia says, giving in.

“You’ll choose hers and trust me to save my own,” Bellamy says firmly. Octavia rolls her eyes

“She’s not that hot, bro. But whatever. Fine,” she says, arms folded. Clarke wants to say thanks, but she’s not sure she’s that grateful to either of the Blakes in that moment. So she shakes her head.

“Right, so, when are we doing this?” Clarke asks.

“Wheels up in one hour, incursion in two hours, back here by dinner time,” Collins replies. Reyes and Wick share a look of disgust at his tone of voice and Clarke wants to join them. She turns to Green.

“How long do you need before you feel good about letting Miller go in?” she asks. Green and Jordan look at each other, and seem to be silently communicating for a moment.

“Give me another half hour to double check the specs, and maybe half an hour on the ground assessing the wifi and security situation. But realistically, we should be on site and good to go in, what, three hours with travel time?” Green asks.

“Does travel time include donuts?” Jordan asks. Green nods, and Jordan nods back.

“Three hours,” they say in unison. Clarke turns to Miller and raises an eyebrow.

“I’ll check the specs, but it’s hard to give a real estimate on how long I’ll need inside, or how long I’ll have. Too many variables,” Miller says, Clarke nods slowly.

“Okay, so meeting location needs to be semi public, easy for Octavia to sniper cover, be in about three and a half hours and require enough travel time to draw it out. And take as long as possible without exacerbating the situation for me or dad,” Clarke clarifies. She gets some affirmative noises and nods and she takes a deep breath. She tries to process this logically, like a puzzle her father used to give her.

“They already see me as a credible threat,” Clarke says after a moment. “So let’s make them believe it. Bellamy, you’ll be playing to role of my bodyguard this evening.” Bellamy smiles at her, and she grins back. She’s got a plan.

“I’ll need to make a quick stop at a weapons cache,” Bellamy says, standing up. “I’ll go now before we all start disbanding.” Clarke raises an eyebrow.

“Do you really think that Jake Griffin’s safe house isn’t well-stocked?” she asks, playfully, walking over to the television. She pulls the flatscreen mounted to the wall forward and to the left, and opens the panel it’s protecting.

“Tactical gear - night vision, climbing gear, traction gloves, the usual,” Clarke says. She points to the couch Green and Jordan are sitting on. “You’re sitting on sniper rifles and larger propellants. And finally, there’s a hidden panel in the main bedroom’s closet that’s all firearms and a couple of knives. From memory, I think he even has a couple of grenades that I personally thought were overkill. But now, I’m thinking we can probably find a use for them.” The group grins at her.

“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s get to work,” Bellamy announces.

 

The next hour is a flurry of activity - pouring over specs, weapons checks, plan updates, timelines being synced, and communication plans. Bellamy even spends some time on the phone to his mother, making sure they aren’t missing everything. Clarke finds herself more useful than she thought she’d be - she’s not just cleaning and loading weapons. She finds that her analytical mind pulls apart building specs easily, and she collaborates with Miller on the route he should take, and how he should egress. She runs interference on Reyes and Wick when they get off track, and dodges the weird advances of Collins when she gets to close. She even works with Octavia peaceably enough, finding the perfect location for the meet. In the end, as the hour winds down and the first team are about to leave for the blacksite, Clarke feels less out of her depth, and more like she had been trained for this. Because she had. And she was ready.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting the gang together has definitely been something everyone's been waiting for. And I'm not great at writing so many voices all at once, but then, I don't know anyone that is. It's the kind of thing that works better in movies or television, because you can see everyone, and it feels less disjointed. But I am proud of some of the interactions that happen, I really like Clarke in this chapter, the way she switches off her emotional stuff and feels like she can actually do this for the first time as a capable individual, relying on her father's training. It's definitely a roller coaster for her emotionally, but I really like her inner narrative in this chapter, and I hope you do too. The other stand out for me is Octavia. 
> 
> But I'll let you guys get to commenting or whatever and stop writing my increasingly weird author's notes!


	7. Confrontations and Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke faces off with the Sky Boxers and one of the three operations hits a snag.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Bellamy asks, his voice low in her ear. Octavia’s in position - not that Clarke’s exactly sure where ‘in position’ is, because she’d just kind of taken off with the rifle bag when they’d arrived at the park. Then she’d sent a message to her brother saying she was in position. Clarke takes a steadying breath.

“Wanting doesn’t come into it,” Clarke replies, not looking back at him. They’re holding position from a decently covered spot, waiting for the Sky Box emissaries to arrive. Her breathing is even, she’s not fidgeting. She feels… surprisingly calm.

“I’m just saying, I could go out there instead of you. It would be basically the same plan,” Bellamy points out. She gives him a quick glare before going back to tracking the park goers with her eyes.

“Don’t be an asshole. I’ve got this. You know as well as I do this works best with me front and centre,” Clarke hisses. “I get that you’ve got this whole protective big brother thing, but you could dial it back.” He makes an annoyed noise beside her, and Clarke can hear a soft laugh from Octavia over the comms they’d set up.

“I’ve been telling him that for years,” Octavia agrees, speaking into the gun, her voice low and quiet. “I’ve got some possibles approaching from your ten.” Clarke focusses her attention over there. The leader and the taller guy with the gun, and a new girl with auburn hair in braids.

“That’s them,” Clarke confirms. “Let’s do this.”

 

She brushes off her clothing, because she’s pretty sure that stray flora isn’t going to make her seem more intimidating. Octavia had dressed her in a leather jacket, black skinny jeans, and let her keep the black tank top - making her feel way more bad ass than she probably actually was. She also had a shoulder holster underneath the jacket and a knife tucked into her boots. She’s about to step out into their line of sight when Bellamy catches her wrist, holding her back. She gives him a sharp look over her shoulder, and he gives her an approving nod.

“You’re already in character, good. If they shoot-,” Bellamy begins. Clarke sighs.

“Dive for cover, roll, move in unpredictable patterns. I got this Bellamy,” she says. “Besides, I trust you not to fuck it up.” Bellamy lets go of her wrist, straightens himself - he’s wearing a similar outfit, except his weaponry is more prominently displayed - and he follows, just behind her left shoulder, face set.

 

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you where you stand?” the dark-skinned leader challenges as she approaches. Clarke raises her eyebrows, unimpressed.

“Go ahead if you don’t want intel on Jaha,” she replies, almost nonchalant. She stops about three feet from the Sky Box group. The leader is considering her offer, his head tilted to the side, and Clarke ignores the murmur of approval from Octavia in her ear.

“We knew one of them would know something,” the girl says quietly. “But she’s not old guard.”

“Monroe makes a good point,” the leader says. “How do we know you’re not lying to get your father back.” Clarke shakes her head and disbelief and her eyes flick to the sky momentarily.

“Why would I be here if I didn’t have intel? To give you another chance to kill me?” Clarke asks. “Christ, I knew you guys weren’t the sharpest tools in the shed but I’m not actually suicidal. I have your intel. You have my father. Let’s make a deal.”

“How did you get it? Our information says that you’re a nursing student,” the leader challenges her. Clarke scoffs.

“Yeah, because my facebook profile was gonna read ‘covert ops’,” she replies sarcastically. “I’m Jake Griffin’s daughter. He’s been training me for this life for a decade. I escaped capture. Do you really think a simple nursing student could have done that?” She stares the leader down, not looking to either of his lackeys. It’s a lot of bluster and bravado she’s pedalling. And it is part of the plan. Ask questions, let them fill in the blanks, don’t actually give any real information away. It’s working, she can feel it. But she needs to stay in the moment, because leaving it, any moment of doubt, was going to get her killed.

“She has a point, Mbege. She took out Murphy like it was nothing,” the taller guy comments.

“Shut up, Dax,” the leader snaps back. Clarke waits, patient, calm, a hand on her hip and the other hanging straight down. The leader looks up her up and down, and then glances over her shoulder.

“Who is he?” the leader asks. Clarke sighs.

“This is getting old. He’s with me. That’s all you need to know. Are you going to deal with me or not?” Clarke asks. The leader nods.

“It depends on your intel. We’re not foolish enough to hand over our leverage before you have given us our prize,” Mbege says, grinning. “Or we could just torture it out of your father.”

“Well you could if he knew about it, but he doesn’t,” Clarke replies. “You want the information, he stays in one piece.” Mbege considers this for a moment.

“Tell me what you know and I’ll tell you if it is worth your father’s life,” he says. Clarke’s eyes flash with anger, and she knows it, but she also knows that anger will out her as unprofessional.

“Keep it together,” Octavia mutters. And she feels Bellamy’s fingers brush her lower back lightly, keeping her in the moment. Clarke swallows.

“I’ve got a team running infiltration now to fact check the specifics: but I can tell you what Jaha is, where it is, and how to get to it,” Clarke replies. “Which is basically all the information your little rag tag group of terrorists needs, isn’t it?” There’s acid in her voice, she knows, but she’s smiling sweetly with cold eyes, and she feels as dangerous in that moment as she’s meant to be. Mbege nods.

“If you have what you say you have, we can deal,” Mbege says. Clarke’s about to say something else when Octavia interrupts.

“Code black, Miller’s trapped in the warehouse. He can’t egress,” Octavia says. Clarke lifts her chin, tilting her head slightly to look down on group.

“Well I suppose you better take my friend and I to your warehouse and show me that my father is alive and well,” Clarke says. The leader frowns, but Clarke shakes her head, stopping him before he can talk. “I’m not giving you information on a blacklisted project until I know that my father is okay, and I’m going to need to see him in the flesh. Furthermore, I’m not walking into your base alone, my friend will join us. Finally, I already know where you live, Mbege. And there are lots of things I could do with that information that aren’t very pleasant. So take a moment to think about your options.”

“Ice cold, nice work,” Octavia mutters. “But if you think you’re walking out of there alive, you’re wrong. They only need one of you.” Clarke fights the urge to look over her shoulder, to confer with Bellamy. She keeps her eyes trained on Mbege, waiting for a response.

“I’m with you,” Bellamy breathes, and she only just hears him, but it’s enough.

“How about this, we’ll meet you there. And if you don’t open the door like a civilised host, I come in with a rocket launcher?” Clarke asks, politely. Monroe and Dax exchange a look, and even Mbege looks a little perturbed by this.

“And if you kill your father?” Mbege asks. Clarke shrugs.

“If you don’t let me in, the only logical explanation is that he’s already dead or you’re really fucking stupid. Are you really fucking stupid?” Clarke asks. The leader scowls, and Dax moves forward into an attack position, but Mbege snaps a quick ‘stand down’ at him. Bellamy moved faster than she could track to just in front of her. So she gives Mbege a sweet smile.

“See you in half an hour,” Clarke says, and then turns on her heel and leaves. Bellamy gives her a moment while he stares down the Sky Box members, and then follows after her.

  
  


“You’re surprisingly good at this,” Octavia tells her. “And they are fully pissed.”

“More to the point, how does us getting in help Miller get out?” Bellamy asks.

“Misdirection, we can control people in areas, and if we see him, we can help him. More to the point, I’m not just leaving him in there. I don’t trust Collins to grift everything we need out, and he’s going to be useful if we need a heist,” Clarke mutters. “Aside from that, you don’t think they’re going to try to overwhelm us with their numbers? Did you see the way he flinched when I called Sky Box a ‘little rag tag group of terrorists’? It’s a sore spot. He’s going to try and show us how big and powerful they are.”

“If this doesn’t work, they kill us, your father, probably Miller, and head on to the next target on their list,” Bellamy says quietly. They’ve reached the car and Octavia’s packed up and jogging towards them.

“Come on, we’ve gotta book it. Drop me a block back and I’ll rendezvous with the nerd squad for back up,” Octavia says, getting in the car.

“What actually happened?” Clarke asks, folding herself into the passenger’s street as Bellamy starts up the car.  

“He got in okay, and cleared the office level. Jake’s in one of the offices, by the way, he’s a little beaten up, but seems okay - Miller couldn’t get close enough to talk though, he’s under guard. The issue happened when he was in the crawl space trying to get a decent view of the first floor. Part of the crawl space caved in behind him. The good news is he’s fine and the Sky Boxers seem to think it’s normal to hear weird noises and shit falling apart. He’s only exit is into a completely internal toilet block with only one exit, the door. And Green doesn’t have eyes on the hallway. Even if he did, the best exit from there has heavy foot traffic.” Clarke thinks about this for a minute.

“Fuck,” she says, eventually because there doesn’t seem to be much else to say.

“Sounds about right,” Bellamy agrees.

“Amateurs,” Octavia mutters in the back, but there’s not the same heat to it as there was a couple of hours ago.

  
  


“Do you think this is going to work?” Clarke asks Bellamy as they approach the warehouse’s main entrance, an anti-tank missile launcher leaning against his shoulder.

“Little late to be asking that now,” Bellamy replies. “We’re here. We go turn back and your father is dead.” Clarke fights the urge the snicker. She doesn’t know why this is so amusing, but it is.

“Okay. We’ve got this, right?” Clarke asks. Bellamy nods.

“Yeah, we’ve got this,” Bellamy agrees, and he steps forward, knocking on the door, shifting the MBT LAW on his shoulder. Clarke looks up at him.

“Is that heavy? It looks heavy,” she says. He gives a light shrug.

“Could be worse. I’m still impressed your father had this in the couch,” he replies. Clarke nods.

“You really wanna shoot something with it, don’t you?” Clarke asks.

“So badly. I mean, let’s rescue your dad and all, but firing this baby-,” Bellamy begins.

“Won’t be necessary today,” Mbege says as he answers the door. Clarke smiles at him.

“Well, that is good news,” she says politely, but he doesn’t move to let her in, so she waits.

“We would ask that you surrender your weapons,” Mbege says. At this, Clarke does laugh.

“Ah, that’s hilarious. Didn’t know you were funny, Mbege. Oh, god, this guy, am I right?” Clarke asks Bellamy, he’s grinning. And she refuses to be distracted by how attractive he is when he smiles genuinely, broadly, like he means it.

“Ah,” Clarke says, with a click of her tongue as she stops laughing. Her face falls back into her serious default. “That is not going to happen. And you’re going to let us in anyway.”

“I don’t think so,” Mbege says, and Dax appears, holding a gun on her. Bellamy shoulders the MBT LAW and points it at Mbege.

“Now the minimum safety range on this is… what was it again?” Clarke asks Bellamy.

“Twenty metres,” Bellamy replies.

“Now, I’m not the best at the whole metric/imperial conversion thing, and honestly, I’m feeling a little erratic lately. Ever since, you know, my father got taken. So if I were you I might be worried about me making a rash decision,” Clarke finishes. She stares Mbege down, waiting. She’s challenging his leadership, again, not giving him options. And it’s dangerous, pushing him like this on his turf. But she’s not going in there unarmed - even if it wasn’t a dumb idea, Octavia threatened to kill her if she did. And she wasn’t sure how seriously she was meant to take death threats from the younger Blake this early in their acquaintance… but Clarke had no doubt she had the ability to carry it out. Mbege sighed, losing the fight. To be fair, it was hard to keep the fight when there was an anti-tank weapon pointed at your face.

“You don’t go anywhere unescorted and if I even think you’re going to pull a weapon, I shoot your father in the head and torture the information out of you instead,” Mbege says. There’s a cold chill on her back, because she knows that makes sense. But she nods.

“We accept your terms,” Clarke says pleasantly, she looks to Bellamy, who moves the weapon into a more relaxed carrying position.

“You know,” Mbege says as they pass him to enter the warehouse. Dax keeps his weapon trained on her, but she ignores it. “Most of them didn’t think you’d actually show up with a rocket launcher.” Clarke raises her eyebrows at him.

“But not you?” she asks. Mbege shakes his head.

“You have proven yourself to be risky to underestimate,” Mbege replies. Clarke smirks.

“Good to know you’re a quick learner. Now, take me to see my father,” Clarke instructs.

  
  


Clarke works hard to fight her instincts when she sees her father. He’s tied to yet another chair, bleeding, and his left eye is swollen shut. His clothes look like they aren’t lacerated, which is a good sign. But she wants to run to him, to go to him. To check him out properly and cry and touch his face. But she swallows down hard and lets Bellamy stand closer to her than he probably should. Jake looks up at them through the eye he can open.

“What are you doing here?” Jake demands, pissed, and Clarke laughs at that.

“Yeah, because leaving you in the hands of these revolutionary weirdos sounded like such a great option,” Clarke replies dryly and he huffs a little.

“As you can see, he’s fine,” Mbege says. Clarke snorts.

“Yes, clearly he’s in peak physical condition,” she bites at him sarcastically. She moves towards her father, two quick steps, and she hears Dax take the safety off. Clarke pauses. She briefly considers pulling her firearm, but instead she turns to look at him. He stares her down. She looks over her shoulder to Bellamy, and he nods.

“If you don’t holster that weapon, you’re going to die in the next thirty seconds,” Clarke tells him.

“You aren’t touching your father,” Mbege says. “Not until you give us the intel.” Clarke glares at him, but knows it’s one step too far.

“The point stands regarding Dax,” she says, icily. Mbege gives Dax a cutting a look, and the gun goes away.

“You shouldn’t be here,” her father says. “You were clear.”

“And you weren’t. You don’t turn your back on family,” Clarke replies. She turns to Mbege.

“You’ve been most accommodating,” she tells him. “I assume you’ll begin a more hospitable treatment of him from now on?” Mbege narrows his eyes slightly.

“What do you mean ‘from now on’?” he asks. Clarke scoffs.

“You don’t think I was stupid enough to walk in here with all the intel you require, do you?” she asks. Mbege glares are her.

“And I shouldn’t just keep you here beside your father and torture you both because you don’t have what I want?” he challenges. Bellamy steps forward, positioning himself just behind her right shoulder.

“Exactly,” Clarke replies. “Look, we both know you want more than a location for Jaha. You want to use it. I can make that happen.” Mbege raises an eyebrow, suspicious.

“How are you going to make that happen?” he asks. Clarke tosses her head and sighs.

“Again, why would I tell you? But I know some people who know some people,” Clarke explains, deliberately condescending. “And people owe me and Dad some favours.”

“Well that one certainly seems loyal to you,” Mbege says, looking over her shoulder at Bellamy. “Though, if I had a pretty girl like you handing me a big gun, I might find it in me to drum up some loyalty myself.” There’s something slimy and scathing about the way he says it, and Bellamy reacts, repositioning the MBT LAW in the firing position.

“No,” Clarke says as Dax pulls his weapon and aims at Bellamy. “I think you’ll find this one is loyal to me for less salacious reasons.” She cuts her eyes to Bellamy, a warning look, and he holsters it again. Dax doesn’t drop his gun.

“Well. If we’re going to start playing nice again, perhaps someone could show me to the bathroom. I have a sudden need to freshen up,” Clarke says, pushing some edge into her polite tone.

“As you wish,” Mbege replies, offering her the exit. She allows one last look at her father over her shoulder.

“See you soon,” she tells him, airy, as if she’s just ducking out to classes or something.

“Stay safe,” he replies, like he always does, and gives Bellamy a meaningful look. She fights as a smile as she leaves him behind and pretends that the lock sounding on the room after the door is closed isn’t as final as it feels.

 

Bellamy follows her into the bathroom, but there is a guard posted outside.

“Let’s make this quick,” Bellamy says, and Clarke really doesn’t want to stay here any longer than she has to and risk compromising Miller further. She enters the toilet cubicle below the vent, and stands on the edges of the seat. She can’t quite reach the vent, so she lifts a foot onto the cistern, and presses her knee into the corner and prays it holds. She gives the vent a soft tap, and Miller rustles it open. She gives him a quick smile and hands him a Glock.

“Not what I asked for,” he tells her, and she rolls her eyes.

“You’ve got rope, a swiss army knife, and traction goggles. I can’t do this for you,” she says dryly. Bellamy coughs to cover a laugh.

“I need a distraction,” Miller tells her. “I’m caged.”

“We’re leaving. You’ll get at least five minutes of hallway clearance,” Clarke says. “Use them wisely.” Miller nods and replaces the vents. Clarke climbs down and exits the cubicle. Bellamy’s looking at her strangely.

“You’d do this for me, right? If I got left behind?” Bellamy asks her quietly. Clarke tilts her head.

“I told you, I’m doing this for him because he’s our thief,” Clarke tells him. Bellamy stares her down.

“Not what I asked,” he replies. She knows what he’s asking. She does. But she’s pretty sure in the bathroom of terrorist organisation squatting in a warehouse is not the place to answer what he’s really asking.

“Yes,” she tells him. “Octavia would kick my ass. Besides, you’d do it for me.” It’s not the answer he wanted, but it’s close enough, so he sighs.

“Yeah, I would. I’d come back for you,” Bellamy promises. She gives him a smile and bumps his shoulder with hers.

“Come on, let’s get out of here and see what our little espionage team is up to,” Clarke tells him, and opens the bathroom door. He follows her out.

 

“When can we expect delivery of your intel?” Mbege asks before they leave. Clarke can see the bathroom door open and close, and she knows she’s got to hold the attention of the people in the hallway or they’re fucked.

“Tomorrow,” Clarke says.

“If you double cross us, I kill you, him, your father, and everyone I can get my hands on that knows your name,” Mbege promises. Clarke nods.

“Seems fair,” she says, and then she smiles. “But however will you know if the intel is accurate?” she adds. Mbege scoffed.

“We will test it. Jaha should give us access to some information that is very relevant to our interests,” Mbege replies. “My analyst should know if the codes work straight away.” There’s something about the way he says ‘analyst’ that makes her hackles raise. But she knows that now isn’t the time to be chasing down ghost theories.

“See you tomorrow. I’ll be in touch,” Clarke says, and then she turns on her heel and leaves.

 

When they reach the van that Green and Jordan are working from, Miller is already there, grinning smugly.

“You’re a natural at this shit,” Octavia tells her. “Ever considered joining the agency?” Clarke snorts.

“I think if I get my father out of this, there is a very good chance he’s never letting me out of the house again,” Clarke replies. “But extracting him is going to be impossible without giving the Sky Boxers something. The question is, how much do we give them?” Green laughs.

“I got word from Reyes that Collins got access codes and she managed to download part of Jaha. I’m already working on what’s essentially a latent virus attached to a dummy system. It will look like it’s doing the right thing, and then it will wipe itself,” Green explains. Clarke nods, suitably impressed.

“And when they find out we’ve double crossed us and come after us?” Clarke asks. Octavia shakes her head.

“I’m a government agent. The second you guys are clear, my team will move in and arrest them all,” she replies.

“What do you know about their analyst?” Clarke asks. “Mbege said something…” Green and Jordan exchange a look.

“It’s a kid,” Octavia cuts in. “She’s like twelve years old and they abducted her. She’s been listed missing for almost two months.” Clarke scowls, and she can feel Bellamy tense behind her.

“Okay, I kind of want to just go in there and kill everyone,” Clarke admits. Octavia snorts and grins like a predator.

“Yeah, I get you,” Octavia agrees. “But you know why that’s a stupid idea, right?” Clarke nods.

“I do. But when you arrest them, don’t be afraid of a bit of police brutality,” Clarke replies, and Octavia laughs.

“Come on, time for the obligatory chinese take out and beer debriefing,” she tells them. And for all that it sounds cliche, it also sounds kind of nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you guys like O a little more now she's warmed up? 
> 
> The relationships are developing... the plot is thickening... And Jake's alive! (for now mwa hahahaha). 
> 
> The chapters are getting a bit longer from here on in... I found it much harder to find breaks, and to find time to do all the emotional/relationship development squeezed into the tiny window of time this story really takes place in (like, thirty hours).
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	8. Conversations and Chinese Food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang being the gang and everything hitting Clarke at once.

****

It’s kind of bizarre to see this group of people relaxing in the safe house lounge room, eating off paper plates and fighting over who gets the last spring roll. And the reason it is so bizarre, is that it seems so normal. A bunch of young adults ranging from, at best guess, late teens in the case of Jordan and Green to potentially early thirties in the case of Wick and Bellamy. Collins is trying to engage Miller, Green, and Jordan in a story about when he and, apparently Reyes, used to work cons together. Reyes, meanwhile, is arguing with Octavia and Wick about action movies and the realism thereof. Bellamy seems to be watching the conversation about movies, but he’s not contributing anything, just hogging the honey soy chicken. Clarke’s been trying to listen to Collins’ story, and she’ll admit he’s a storyteller with a little showmanship, but she can’t stay focussed. And honestly, there’s something about grifters that makes her want to run a mile. She’s trying to find the memory, the thing her father said that gives her this feeling. But at the end of the day, she’s pretty sure it’s just a gut instinct, because some grifters start believing their own spin. And she kind of feels like you're never going to get the whole truth.

Collins has shifted to talk to Reyes, trying to poke at her about how much fun today had been, what a rush. But she’s just shaking her head.

“I’ve got a life now, Finn, a real life. I’ve got my garage and I’m good. I’m not fucking around with that shit anymore,” she tells him. And Wick shifts in his seat, as if he’s pleased with the answer. Octavia’s moved on to berating Miller about getting trapped in the crawl space earlier like an amateur, and Jordan and Green seem to be playing some sort of game on their phones. Bellamy’s trying half-heartedly to defend Miller from his sister, but it’s all in fun. And it is, literally, all in fun.

“Yeah, but the rush, Rave, the rush,” Finn says. “And you’re back in the game right now.”

“After everything Griffin did to get me out, I’m not going back in now. It’s a brief foray to help a friend. And I love you, Finn, I’ll always love you, but I’m never gonna trust you like that again,” Reyes replies. “Besides,” she adds, shifting to sit closer to Wick, flicking her hand back to hit his chest. “This idiot would probably blow himself up without me.” Wick snorts.

“Whatever, Wrench Monkey,” Wick says affectionately, and steals her steamed dumpling.

“Okay, so, the thing collapses behind you - which, for the purposes of this conversation we’ll say wasn’t your fat ass crawling through it,” Octavia says. “What’s your first thought?” Miller takes a pull on his beer.

“Oh god, oh god, we’re all going to die?” Miller replies. Green hits Jordan, which seems to be code for ‘pause’ and stares at Miller.

“Did you just quote Serenity?” Green asks. Miller looks between the two, unsure.

“Yeah. But seriously. Did think I was going to die for a minute there,” he offers and Green smiles. There’s something… adorable about it. Honest. Open. And Clarke catches herself smiling too. Octavia shoves Miller lightly.

“Seriously. I thought you were a good thief,” she chastises.

“O, that’s like saying you thought someone was a good fighter if they lose a fencing tournament. Different tools for different tasks,” Bellamy says. “That said, he couldn’t lift off Clarke, so I’m not sure how good he is exactly.” Miller scoffs and pulls a keyring out of his pocket.

“Look familiar?” he asks, and tosses them at Bellamy. The room is quiet for a moment as Bellamy registers his keys, now back in his possession.

“Okay,” he says after a beat. “You’re not too bad.” And everyone laughs and resumes conversations.

“When did you even lift them?” Clarke asks, shuffling forward to grab some black bean beef. Miller nods at her.

“In the stairs on the way up. He was watching you, distracted, I took the opportunity,” he explains. Clarke looks at Bellamy who refuses to meet her eyes.

“Well, nicely done,” she says. “I’m glad you’re okay.” Miller raises his bottle and takes another pull. Clarke grins. And Octavia laughs.

“For a bunch of unknowns, we make a pretty great team,” she admits. “But I still think we’re all crazy.” Clarke sighs.

“About that. I just wanted to say, properly, that I’m grateful for everything you guys have done to help me. And are doing. I couldn’t have… whatever. Thank you,” Clarke says. There’s a moment of silence, and then a bunch of deflecting and talking about Griffin and how they owed him one. But Clarke knows that it means something; her thanks. And it makes her love these people, just a little bit. She glances over at Bellamy. Or maybe more than a little.

****  
  


After the takeout cartons and paper plates have all been trashed, and the empty bottles chucked in recycling, they sit in an awkward kind of limbo.

“So,” Clarke says eventually, still unsure how she ended up being team captain when she’s the most inexperienced player on the field. “Tomorrow.” She’s not sure what else to say.

“I’ll go with you,” Collins tells her. “Help smooth the field, enhance the con, be the CI you were working yesterday. They’ll expect evidence, and evidence in the form of a person is always useful.” Clarke’s not sure how she feels about this, but Octavia’s nodding.

“Good, extra person for Jake’s extraction if it goes south,” she comments.

“I’ll be reprising my role as bodyguard - they’ll expect me there,” Bellamy comments, and something uncoils in Clarke’s stomach. Not like she didn’t know he’d be there but… he’d be there.

“I’ll be on the roof, directly above Jake,” Miller says. “Jordan’s going to be with me as plan B.”

“Plan B?” Clarke asks. Jordan grins.

“Incendiary device - cave in the roof, drop a line, Miller will drop in, hitch him to the harmness, and we lift him out.” Clarke frowns.

“Won’t they move him for the exchange? And now we know where he is?” she asks. Octavia shakes her head.

“No, they think they’re safe. They still think they hold all the cards,” Raven says. “Psychology. You went into their territory, and they’re keeping secrets from you. To them, you’re beatable despite being a threat.”

“I’ll be in the van with Reyes and Wick,” Green adds. “I’ll be live accessing their screen, watching the program, and I’ll be able to take over and do the wipe manually if i have to.”

“We’ll be on security, monitoring cameras, tracking you guys as best we can and keeping up comms,” Wick says. “We’ll have a few gadget tricks up our sleeve if we need to get you out or cause a distraction.”

“I’ll be in position with my people to move in the second you’re clear,” Octavia says. “I’ll be tapped into your comms, so if anything goes wrong, I’ll be there.” She looks at her brother. “Family first.”

“Family first,” Bellamy agrees. “And until this is over, we’re all family.”

“And you don’t turn your back on family,” Clarke adds.

“And this is some sappy shit,” Reyes says. “Green, get your shit, we’re setting up on the dining table to help you get it done.”

“Got it,” Green says, hitting Jasper, who also stands, collecting a variety of tablets, cords, and laptops. Clarke had imagined from television that it would be a more streamlined process. But apparently it involves multiple devices, something called a strawberry pi USB and a lot of yelling.

Octavia gets a phone call not long after that and waves goodbye at the room as she exits. Miller and Collins look like they’re attempting to bond, and it’s not working terribly well, and Bellamy’s staring at his beer.

“So, Clarke, have you ever thought about joining the grift?” Collins asks her, looking at her intensely. “From what I heard, you put on quite a show today.” Clarke shakes her head.

“No way,” she replies.

“Really? Because I could always use a stunning blonde who knows how to act,” Collins offers. And Clarke can’t help but snort. He looks vaguely offended.

“Sorry, it’s just.. that was terrible. Was that actually a line? Grifters are the worst,” Clarke says, laughing softly and Collins leans back on the couch and sighs.

“Ah well, I had to try. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see you all tomorrow,” Collins say, standing. Clarke frowns.

“I think not,” Bellamy says, voicing her thoughts. “We all stay here together.” Collins freezes. Clarke gives Bellamy a quick thankful smile.

“Your sister just left,” Collins points out. Bellamy shrugs.

“My sister’s loyalty is not in question,” Bellamy replies. “Yours, on the other hand.” Collins scoffs.

“Seriously? Why all the grifter hate? I got you everything you wanted today, and now you don’t trust me?” Collins asks.

“And they probably shouldn’t,” Reyes yells from the kitchenette. “Sit your ass down.” Bellamy and Clarke exchange a look.

“We’re all staying here,” Clarke reaffirms. “I don’t know any of you, and as much as I’d like to trust all of you… it’s not a wise call. So we all stay here. Anyone got a problem with that?” Collins looks like he’s going to argue, but he sits back down. And then, all of a sudden, it hits her. Everything that’s happened today. Her father, her cramps… the first aid, and phone calls, and walking in to a terrorist group’s base of operations. She’s a fucking nursing student. She swallows down hard.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she says quietly, and then she makes her way to the bathroom and closes the door behind her, sits on the edge of the bathtub, and starts to cry.

“Clarke?” Bellamy’s voice sounds muffled through the door, but she doesn’t reply, and she’s not surprised when he opens the door a crack, and then slips into the room, locking it behind him.

“Hey,” he says quietly, sitting down next to her. “Hit you all at once there, huh?” She huffs, and tries to wipe her eyes. It’s an exercise in futility, because she’s still crying.

“It’s just… It’s been less than twenty-four hours and I don’t even know who I am anymore,” she whispers. The confession rips another sob from her. “And I need him, Bellamy. I need him back. I don’t know how I’m meant to do this without him.”

“With me. You’re meant to do this with me. I’ll get you through this, Clarke. I promise,” he says, his voice soft, and Clarke leans against him. He goes to place an hand on her back, and then he hesitates. “Hey, I should probably change your dressings while we’re here,” he adds. Clarke nods, because it’s easier to just go along with it, to let him take care of her, this guy who was a stranger yesterday, and today feels like her best friend. She strips off her tank top and grabs the gauze from the bathroom cupboard and tosses them at him. He picks at the edge of the tape to get a hold before ripping it off in one smooth motion. Clarke makes a small noise of complaint and Bellamy chuckles.

“Of course you can stare down a wannabe terrorist, but I can take off a bandage?” he teases her softly. She huffs, but doesn’t say anything else.

“You know, I didn’t have the same kind of choice you did. Mom was still on active duty, and I’ve never known anything else. Neither has Octavia, not really. Even if we wanted it to be different… we’ve always known,” Bellamy tells her. Clarke waits for him to continue talking as he changes her bandages. His hands trace her skin around the bandages.

“You’re not any different to who were yesterday, Clarke. You’re just being who you need to be to survive,” he says in the end. “And the day after tomorrow you can go back to nursing like none of this ever happened. If that’s what you want.” He pulls away from her. “Finished.” She slips her tank top back and turns to look at him.

“I don’t know what I want anymore. You know, people write books about these huge events or whatever, but there’s no follow up. No one tells you how to go back, to… to be normal after you’ve held a gun pulled on you or stabbed a guy in the femoral artery,” Clarke says softly. “After you’ve seen your father held hostage.”

“Well, there’s always therapy,” Bellamy teases gently, and she hits him, then settles back down next to him on the edge of the bath.

“You made your choice, Clarke. To do something, to not be a victim. And for all that Jake’s probably pissed you’re involved, I bet he’s really proud to. And now you’ve got another choice to make. Go back to your normal life and pretend nothing’s wrong, or stay involved with all of this, and the,” he says, gesturing to the living areas. Clarke nods, thinking.

“I’m… you told me I couldn’t go back,” she says, looking at her hands clasped on her knees.

“You wanted to kill them all,” he reminded her.

“I still do,” she replied. “And I mean it.” He looks at her carefully.

“You do, don’t you?” he sighs. “I don’t blame you. And you’re certainly capable. Question is… is it worth it?” Clarke shrugs, feeling her eyes well up again.

“I don’t know the answer to that,” Clarke says, honestly. And she doesn’t. But she does know that regardless of the cost, she’s going to do whatever she can to get her father back.

“If you stay,” Bellamy says softly, she looks up at him, but he’s not looking at her anymore. “If you stay, I’ll stay with you. If you want.”

“You’ve got your own life to get on with. And I assume a job,” Clarke says, surprised at how much she doesn’t know. He shakes his head.

“I keep a foot in both worlds,” he tells her. “I contract when it’s needed and play at getting a history masters. It’s… Look, you’re not responsible for this choice, and more than likely I’ll end up on this side of the line anyway, given enough time. Because… if you can help, I think you should. And I can.” He shrugs awkwardly, and smiles at her. She leans against him.

“So I won’t be alone, is what you’re saying,” Clarke says softly. He shifts, pressing his face into her hair.

“It’s not an obligation. I’m just… here for you, Clarke,” he tells her. She remembers the look in her father’s eyes when she looked at Bellamy when they were leaving. He trusted Bellamy. And so did she.

“I know,” Clarke replied into his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Come on,” Bellamy says softly, shifting her off his shoulder. “You should get some rest. You’ve got another big day tomorrow.” Clarke nods standing up.

“I know you’re probably going to organising a watch and patrols or whatever. But… I don’t trust Collins, keep him off your roster, okay?” Clarke asks. Bellamy nods and smirks.

“Yeah, he wasn’t on my list,” Bellamy replies dryly. Her mouth twitches in a smile, and she hesitates again before leaving the bathroom.

“And my room has bunk beds. I don’t know what we’re doing for sleeping arrangements, but…,” Clarke’s voice trails off, and she’s not sure what to say next, or how to say it.

“Are you inviting me to sleep with you?” Bellamy says, almost teasing. Clarke huffs and shakes her head.

“Something like that. You or Raven. Just…,” Clarke’s voice trails off. But Bellamy nods.

“I’ll keep the untrustworthy folk away while you sleep,” he promises, and she smiles, trying not to blush, and leaves the room. But she falls asleep feeling safer than she thought she would after a day like today.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like, at this point, weird vaguely off topic author's notes are expected.
> 
> But you guys should know I was going to make more references to the fact that Clarke still has her period, but I didn't because grossness even though I always wondered when these people go to the bathroom. And how bitches deal with the fact they are bleeding and the squishy feeling you get with a heavy period or if you leave the change too long when they're on missions. And spillage. Flashing the bad guys your leakage as you kick them in the face. Like, these are the questions, people. That I ask. That everyone else is probably like, omg wordy stfu that's disgusting. But I'm serious. It's a thing I think about. 
> 
> My sister says I need to work on my social skills. She's probably right. I kind of want to ask her if she's proud of me for not writing about Clarke doing all the bleeding while confronting the Sky Boxers but I kind of ruined it with this Authors Note. On the plus side, you didn't have to read this bit. You chose to. Probably like people choose to watch a train wreck. 
> 
> COMMENTS APPRECIATED. Preferably about the fic and not about my weird obsession with bathroom breaks in action movies.


	9. Jake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the final stage of the plan in enacted.

Clarke wakes up, a warm presence pressed against her back. She thinks about snuggling in, but then she remembers that everything’s not as it should be, and her eyes fly open, suddenly more awake. She shifts away and turns to look at the person behind her. Raven. She huffs out a laugh. There’s something weirdly comforting about the fact she just got into bed behind her.

“Move it, I wanna get up,” Clarke says, pushing at her.

“Ugh just climb over. Jesus, Griffin, I’m trying to sleep here,” is the groaned reply. Clarke rolls her eyes and climbs over her Raven wraps herself deeper in the blankets, makes another noise, and then goes back to sleep. She looks up on the top bunk, to find Miller looking at her curiously.

“You talk in your sleep,” he informs her. “Do you like turtles?” Clarke frowns, confused.

“Uh, not especially?” Clarke asks, suspicious. He grins at her.

“You kept asking for your turtle,” Miller tells her. “Bellamy’s on last watch - you’ll probably find him in the kitchen brewing coffee. I just came off last watch. I’m going to go back to sleep.” She nods her thanks and heads out to the kitchen to chase down coffee.

 

Octavia is back, and she and Bellamy are having an intense conversation in muted tones, and Wick’s reading something on his phone in the lounge room. There’s something about the Blakes’ body language that tells Clarke she wouldn’t be welcome there, so she heads straight for the kitchen and pours herself some coffee. She’s always taken it black, with loads of sugar, and when she’s staring at the cup now, she thinks about yesterday morning, when her father had handed her the cup in their kitchen. The kitchen was a mess, she thinks. They’d both been distracted lately, and neither of them cared much for food aside from nourishment. He’d handed her the cup and told her it was the last clean cup. She’d laughed and made a joke about getting a dishwasher. He’d kissed her head and told her to get to class, that he’d take care of it. But he hadn’t. The sink was still full of dirty dishes, and she knew that, even if everything went back to normal, they wouldn’t be living in that house anymore, not now they’d been found. She felt strangely calm about it.

 

“That coffee’s not going to get any better for staring at it,” Octavia says, leaning in the doorway, bringing Clarke out of her thoughts. Clarke offers a quick smile, raises her coffee, and then takes a drink. Octavia moves into the kitchen and refills her own cup, adding sugar and milk.

“So,” Octavia says, looking her up and down. “You ready for this?” Clarke raised her eyebrows.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that? It’s not like we can turn back now,” Clarke replies. Octavia sighs.

“Well there goes me trying to be nice to you,” she says, and Clarke laughs. Octavia shrugs. “I promised Bell I’d try to be nicer to you. You know he’s thinking about going into the life for you, right?” Clarke nods.

“He told me last night,” Clarke replies. “That he’ll get me through this, and the next part, if I decide to stay in this.” Octavia looks at her evenly.

“I love my brother. But he wants to be the world’s big brother, and I’m worried it’s going to get him killed,” she says. “I won’t forgive you if he dies for you.” Clarke nods, taking another gulp of her coffee.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Clarke replies. “But he’s making his own decisions. And maybe you should respect that too. I haven’t asked him for any of this,” Octavia presses her lips together tightly, scrutinising her.

“You don’t get it, do you? You didn’t have to ask. That’s just… who he is. He’s trained for this, and he’s not a bad operative. And I can’t tell him not to do something I’m doing. But this is about you, Clarke, dragging him into unnecessary risks, because you can,” Octavia says. Clarke swallows thickly.

“I trust him. He’s… I trust him,” Clarke says. “But I don’t want him to die for me, Octavia.” Octavia shakes her head.

“You’re both as stupid as each other. But you’re not the worst,” Octavia admits. “I get it, why he likes you. I’d probably like you too, if things were different. Don’t let him get himself killed, alright?” Clarke nods. She can’t imagine not having Bellamy around anymore. It’s been less than twenty four hours. Nothing makes sense, but it feels right.

“I’ll do my best,” Clarke promises, and Octavia rewards her with a grin before leaving.

“If shit hits the fan, the code word’s ‘sweet christmas’,” Octavia tosses over her shoulder before slamming the door behind her.

 

Clarke stays in the kitchen, sipping her coffee, leaning against the kitchen sink. Thinking about the plan. So much could go wrong today. More than yesterday. They have contingencies and plans in place. But at the end of the day… She sighed. Today she had to mean it when she aimed her gun, had to mean it when she threatened lives. And she would. Bellamy finds her there, and he leans in the doorway with a cocksure smile.

“So, ready to be a badass?” Bellamy asks her, and she smirks.

“No,” she admits. “I’m ready to get my father back.” Bellamy nods.

“Good answer,” he replies. Clarke offers him the coffee pot, but he shakes his head. “No, I’ve had enough, I’ll get too wired. Sleep okay?” She nods.

“Better than expected. Of course, waking up with a smokin’ hot latina in my bed didn’t hurt my mood,” Clarke says and Bellamy snorts.

“Yeah, she didn’t seem keen to sleep on the couch, and Collins was in the other room,” Bellamy explained. Clarke smiles.

“It was fine. Miller said he needed a bit more sleep. How did we finish up last night? All the tech ready to go?” Clarke asks. Bellamy nods.

“Yeah, Green did something with a USB that Wick said was impossible, and Jordan made some explosives from household chemicals while Raven supervised. But we’re good to go,” Bellamy says, he’s looking at her expression carefully, and she’s working on keep it relatively blank.

“This is your last chance to back out of this, Clarke. I can’t guarantee we’ll get your father back with our backup plan… but… this is it. It’s not weakness to not be strong enough to do this,” Bellamy says. Clarke shakes her head.

“You don’t turn your back on family. Besides, this won’t ever go away anyway, will it? And I won’t be alone. You’ll be there,” Clarke replies. Bellamy smiles strangely at her.

“I’ll be there?” he asks. She shrugs.

“Yeah. You’ll be there,” Clarke repeats. She places her mug in the sink. “Come on, bring me up to speed on the tech so I won’t feel like a moron when I try and talk about it later.”

“Yeah, I’m going to go kick Green awake for that one,” Bellamy laughs, and Clarke follows him, smiling, and determined.

 

-

 

Monroe with the braids opens the door for Clarke, Bellamy, and Collins. She gives them a long suspicious look.

“Who’s the suit?” she asks, nodding at Collins.

“He’s the asset who got Jaha out,” Clarke replies. “Are we doing business or not? Because I’m pretty sure my friend here would love a chance to use the MBT LAW.”

“It’s in the car,” Bellamy adds, sounding almost hopeful, but still surly. It’s a magical combination and Clarke just raises a pointed eyebrow at Monroe and congratulates herself on not laughing.

“Two minutes,” Monroe replies brusquely, and kicks the door shut. Clarke looks over her shoulder at Bellamy who shrugs, and then she looks at Collins, who smiles.

“This is good. They’re thrown,” he says quietly. Clarke turns back to face the door.

“If we keep them off balance they’re just going to snap and shoot us,” Clarke mutters.

“Don’t be so dramatic. There’ll be warning signs. We’ll shoot them first,” Bellamy adds, and Collins sighs loudly,

“Hitters really are the worst. You can’t just hit all your problems,” he chastises them. “Talking can solve many things.” The door opens again before the conversation can continue.

“Come in,” Monroe says, standing back. Clarke shakes her head.

“Yeah, because walking in there with no idea what’s on the other side while carrying all the information you require is such a great plan,” she says dryly. Monroe glares. It’s not even true - Wick’s monitoring camera feeds and she knows there are twenty people in the next room waiting, and her father isn’t one of them.

“You can keep your weapons,” Monroe bites out tersely.

“And what assurance do you have we can leave? Or that my father is still alive?” Clarke asks. Monroe is fuming, and Clarke knows she’s throwing them off balance even more. But she keeps her tone light, professional, and authoritative. If she shows weakness, they’ll take it and use it.

“What do you want me to do about it?” Monroe grinds out. Clarke smiles evenly.

“I’d like the room cleared that I’m about to walk into. You can keep two of your people for each one of us,” Clarke negotiates. Monroe looks off to the side, clearly checking with someone, and then she turns back.

“Fine,” Monroe says. “Anything else? Cup of tea, perhaps?” Clarke presses her lips together, swallowing her laugh.

“It would be nice if I knew my father was alive before I hand over this information,” Clarke adds. Monroe sighs heavily, and then turns over her shoulder.

“Dax, bring Griffin down here,” she yells. And then she glares at Clarke again. “Now, are we doing this or not?” Clarke nods politely and steps forward. Mbege has been waiting off to the side, and she smiles at him.

“Good morning, Mbege,” she greets him. Monroe slams the door shut behind them, and she fights off a wince. “I don’t think you’ve met the asset who recovered Jaha for you. Mbege, Thomas, Thomas, this is Mbege,” Clarke continues, indicating Collins and using their agreed upon alias.

“Where did you find it?” Mbege asks, advancing on Collins. Clarke instinctively moves, side stepping into Mbege’s path and placing a hand on his chest.

“You might find you catch more flies with honey than vinegar,” Clarke says in a hard voice. “Where’s my father?” Mbege looks like he’s about to fight her off, but he holds, glaring at her.

“Where you last saw him. He’s been fed and watered,” Mbege spits at her. Clarke’s gaze darkens.

“If he is anymore injured, I promise you that you won’t live long enough to enjoy the spoils of your pathetic little war,” Clarke says quietly, threatening. They attempt to stare each other down, but Dax interrupts, dragging Jake into the room. He looks no worse than yesterday, but Clarke takes a step back from Mbege to turn and get a better look at him. She almost absent-mindedly gestures to Bellamy to pull his gun and aim it at Mbege. She hears the sound of safety flicking off three of the Sky Boxers guns. And she makes a small noise of dissatisfaction.

“How are you doing, old man?” Clarke asks her father. He scoffs.

“Kids these days, no idea how to conduct a proper interrogation,” Jake replies. She smiles briefly, and then turns back to face Mbege.

“My friend here will keep a gun on you until this transaction is complete and we leave the building. As I’m sure you can appreciate, you do have a rather significant advantage with the exchange happening here. If he shoots you, I’m sure you’ll be appropriately avenged,” Clarke says. “And if you cross me, I’ll put a bullet in you. Shall we begin?” Mbege clearly doesn’t love the deal but he grunts out an approval and moves to sit at the table. He snaps his fingers and a young girl, barely thirteen Clarke guesses, is dragged in with a laptop. The laptop is placed on the table with more care than the girl is deposited on the chair, and Clarke wants to kill them all. For her father, for this girl, for being stupid revolutionaries with not enough sense to understand they were terrorists.

“If your friend isn’t careful he’ll end up with a bullet in him,” Mbege says, almost idle, but Clarke can hear the rage underneath. “Of course,” he adds, giving Collins a once-over, “if you prove not to have Jaha, you’ll all end up with bullets in you.” Clarke turned to Collins, giving him a slight nod. He smiled and stepped forward.

“I’m sure it won’t come to that,” Collins says, smooth, handing over the USB. The girl at the table doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes, but takes the drive and plugs it in.

“I need passwords,” she almost whispers.

“Oscar Charlie zero three niner Echo Bravo,” Collins recites. Or repeats at least, Clarke can hear Green feeding him the code through the comms. There is a few moments of silence, punctuated by the tapping of laptop keys.

“Well?” Mbege asks. The girl doesn’t say anything at first, and then a guy that Clarke doesn’t know shoves her shoulder.

“Answer,” he snaps. Clarke can see Bellamy tense up, and she wants to tell him to do it, let go, shoot the prick. But she takes a deep breath.

“It seems intact,” the girl whispers.

“You’ll need further codes to action anything with the program,” Collins says smoothly. Mbege looks up sharply.

“That wasn’t what we were told,” he says, accusatory. Collins seems to almost shrug, moving to sit down opposite them on the table.

“I have the codes. But you don’t really expect the government to let a psychotic AI with too much access run free over the systems, do you?” Collins asks. Mbege is still glaring at him.

“We were told Jaha would grant us access, almost unlimited,” Mbege says after a moment. “If it can not, then it is of no use to us.” What he doesn’t say is that they will all die, but Clarke hears it anyway. She thinks about saying something, but decides to trust Collins. At least as far as she could throw him anyway.

“It will. If you have the codes,” Collins reassures him. “And you can have them. As soon as we walk out that door.”

“What guarantee do we have that the codes work?” Mbege asks. “We do not like to take things on faith.” Collins leans forward, and Clarke can’t see his expression, but she assumes he’s smiling.

“Wouldn’t expect you to,” Collins reassures. “Test it now, here, before we leave. We’ve no reason to lie to you. You know where the Griffin’s live.” Or where we used to live, Clarke thinks, rueful. But Collins is good, smooth, and even she wants to believe when she knows that she shouldn’t. Mbege thinks about it for a moment and then turns to the girl.

“I want access to missile launch codes for a silo in North Dakota,” Mbege says. Clarke freezes, cold, sick feeling in her stomach. The girl looks terrified.

“What are you going to do with them?” the girl asks, stuttering over her words. Mbege glares at her, and the other guy hits her, knocking her forward into the laptop. Clarke has to fight moving forward.

“Idiot. That’s not your concern. Your concern is getting me access,” Mbege tells her. The girl looks up at him, eyes wide with fear, and her back rigid.

“No,” she says quietly. “I won’t do it.” Clarke wanted to reassure her, tell her it was all part of the plan, and that she would be free if she would do this in just a few more minutes. But she couldn’t. She glanced over at Bellamy, the look on his face telling everything she needed to know. Collins says nothing.

“You’ll do it or you die,” the man behind her said, and he pressed the gun to her head. Clarke swallows, thickly. She’s about to watch an innocent girl die. Bellamy looks at her, almost imploring, and she knows what she has to do. But it’s a risk. It’s a risk that she’ll die, or her father will, and Bellamy almost certainly will and Octavia will never forgive her (but she really is more concerned about the idea of Bellamy not being there), and Collins will probably get taken. But she’s not going to watch this happen. She won’t.

“No,” the girl says.

“Sweet Christmas,” Clarke says, cutting over the girl. “You think a girl’s going to do her best work with a gun to her head?” The girl looks at her, eyes even wider than before. Clarke can hear Octavia talking in her ear, telling her she’s on her way. Five minutes.  

“I won’t let anyone else die because of me,” the girl says. Clarke shrugs.

“Then don’t. At least, not today. Thomas, can you please take over for the girl?” Clarke asks. “I really don’t have time for all this umming and ahhing.” Collins nods, swivelling the laptop away from the girl, and beginning to type, Green feeding him instructions.

“You haven’t saved her,” Mbege says, as the girl gets pulled from the room. “The next time she disobeys, she will die.” Clarke shrugs, trying to seem ambivalent.

“So I bought her a reprieve. I don’t like watching kids die,” Clarke says. Mbege shrugs back, like they’re old friends coming to an agreement.

“I’ve got them,” Collins says, turning the laptop back to face Mbege. Clarke wants to hit him for not dragging it out a little longer. But it’s a con, after all. You have to gain their confidence. “You enter the coordinates and the launch codes and you’re good to go.” Mbege looks at the screen and back to Collins.

“You are quite useful, you know,” Mbege comments. “Perhaps we will keep you.” Collins scoffs.

“You can’t afford me,” he promises. “Enter your coordinates and I’ll give you the code.” Clarke feels the tension escalating in the room, and she subtly shifts her weight to give her a better fighting stance, and she places her hand on the hip opposite her shoulder holster for faster access to her firearm. The only viable exit is behind her, and she knows it. And she knows if she goes for it early, her companions will die.

“Give me the codes,” Mbege says. “Or you all die. Now.” Suddenly guns are drawn and point at them, and safety catches are flicking. Bellamy sticks his arm out to push her behind him, backing her up against the wall and blocking her as a human shield. She draws her weapon and side steps, so she can still make herself useful in the ensuing firefight. She ignores the reaction she feels in her chest when he steps into protect her though. Collins hasn’t moved from his seat, and Jake looks like he’s straining to get free.

“Codes die with us, Mbege,” Clarke says, trying to sound commanding as possible. Mbege laughs.

“You think this suit will withstand torture? He will save his own skin first, I know his kind,” Mbege says smoothly. Bellamy still has his weapon trained on Mbege, and hers is pointed at the Dax, still standing by her father.

“I’ll be gone before the last shot is fired,” Collins promises. “And you won’t find me again. Stop grandstanding and finish the transaction with honour.” Mbege scoffs, and Clarke knows instinctively that was the wrong thing to say.

“You won’t survive the firefight,” Bellamy promises, his voice cold. Mbege laughs.

“What do I care about my life? The cause is what matters, and it will go on without me,” Mbege says.

“Fucking idealists,” Clarke mutters, and Raven laughs on the comms, Wick shushing her. She can imagine Bellamy trying not to roll her eyes.

“Give me the code,” Mbege says to Collins. “Or I kill them.”

“Put down your weapons and I’ll give them to you,” Collins counters. Mbege pulls a gun and places it almost against Collins’ forehead.

“Not good,” Raven mutters. And Clarke braces herself, feeling Bellamy shift too.

“Give me the code or I’ll kill you,” Mbege says. And Clarke knows they can’t wait any longer. So she shifts her leg to make contact with Bellamy for a moment, warning him, takes a breath in, and on the exhale, she fires at Dax, hitting him in the chest. Mbege is down with Bellamy’s first shot, and Jake hits the ground, falling on his side to drop out of firing range. Collins is under the table, and Bellamy takes out two more men while Clarke slides on her knees to her father’s side. She yanks a knife out of her boot and starts cutting at his wrist restraints.

“Behind you,” Jake snaps. And Clarke spins, her right leg out, sweeping, tripping her would-be assailant and bringing them to the floor. “Centre mass,” her father reminds her, and she shoots his hip, not killing, but wounding severely.

“I do have this semi under control,” she tells her father as she goes back to trying to cut him free. She spins the chair so the underside is facing the rest of the room, providing her a little cover and giving her a better view. Collins is still hiding, and Bellamy is taking out the Sky Boxers methodically. He seems to have been grazed in the arm, but he’s not letting that stop him.

“You shouldn’t have anything to do with this,” her father snaps. His wrist is finally free, and Monroe approaches them from her four o’clock, and she shoots, hitting her stomach, dropping her down.

“Well I couldn’t just leave you,” Clarke snaps. “You don’t turn your back on family.”

“That’s something Aurora Blake used to say. That’s her son, isn’t it?” he asks, getting his other wrist free.

“Yeah, it is,” Clarke says. She’s hit from behind, hard in the back, and she goes down into a roll, coming up in a crouch. The girl is tall, willowy, and she looks furious. The girl lunges, and Clarke blocks the attack, stepping into the space and hitting at her solar plexus, hard. The girl exhales, forced, and Clarke shoulders her backwards, knocking her into the wall. Jake, free, slashes at her femoral artery, and she goes down screaming.

“Gun,” he commands, and she passes it to him, taking back the knife.

Clarke thinks they’re doing alright, that they’re going to be okay. And then time seems to slow down. A man enters the room from the far side, takes aim, and shoots Jake in the chest, and he goes down as Clarke screams. It’s less than a second, but she feels like she’s not breathing as she swipes the gun from where it’s still in his hand and empties the remainder of the clip into the guy’s chest, killing him. There’s a crash behind her, and the fight is still going, and then it’s over as Octavia and her team flood into the room, disarming and handcuffing the Sky Boxers, leaving Collins hiding under the table, Bellamy heaving his breaths, leaning against a wall for support, and Clarke staring at her unconscious father, hands shaking.

 

“You’re a nurse! Be a nurse,” Bellamy urges. She hears him through the comm, like a voice in her head, not over the noise in the room, and she drops to her knees. She can hear chatter: everyone asking what’s happening, but she can’t hear them, not really. She takes a breath.

“Dad? Dad, can you hear me?” she asks, loud, close to his ear, trying to keep her voice professional and even. She presses two fingers against his neck, feeling his pulse. It was weak, but not tachy yet. He was alive. She let out a sigh of relief and then she checked the entry wound.

“Penetrating chest trauma has a low mortality rate,” she whispers, reciting her text book. “Complications occur from collapsed lungs, injured arteries, blood loss, and organ damage.” She doesn’t want to move him, but she needs to know where the bullet is, if it’s gone all the way through. So she slips her hand underneath him, leveraging him up slightly. No blood. She rests him back down again. She sits up on her knees, leaning down to apply pressure with her hands.

“Don’t you dare die,” she says to him quietly. “I won’t forgive you if you die.”

“Here,” Bellamy says, handing her his shirt. She wasn’t aware that he’d even sat down beside her. She thanks him as she presses the shirt to the wound, packing it on, and then goes back to applying pressure.

“He won’t die,” Bellamy says softly. “Griffins are too stubborn.” She rewards him with a small smile she almost means.

“He won’t die,” she agrees. She glances at his arm, still bleeding freely. “You okay?” she asks. He looks down at his bicep and shrugs.

“Flesh wound. I’ll heal,” he replies. “Just glad you’re okay.” He runs his hand lightly from her shoulder down her back. She wishes she could lean into him, wishes her father wasn’t bleeding out, wishes none of this had ever happened and they’d met at the library, cramming together for finals.

“I’ve called an ambulance. ETA nine minutes,” Octavia says. Clarke nods her thanks, but it’s not quite enough.

“Appreciate it,” Clarke says. Then she jerks her head towards Bellamy. “Didn’t get him killed.” Octavia smiles.

“Nah, just lightly shot,” Octavia agrees. “Forgivable.” If Bellamy finds their interaction strange, he says nothing, and Clarke returns her focus to her father.

  


They don’t speak again until Jake has been stabilised for transport is being loaded into the ambulance.

“What now?” Bellamy asks her, his voice low. He’s pulled the comm out of his ear, and Clarke wonders if it’s because he doesn’t want anyone to hear what come next. She pulls hers out too.

“The hospital. His prognosis is good,” Clarke replies.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Bellamy says, pulling her wrist so she faced him. She looked into his eyes and knew exactly what she was asking.

“I don’t know,” Clarke said honestly. He offered her a weak smile.

“If you need me…,” he begins, but his voice trails off. She leans up on her toes and kisses his cheek. He wraps his arms around her tightly, just for a moment, and then his hand trails back down to her wrist as he steps back.

“Until we meet again,” Clarke says softly. The paramedics are hailing her.

“May we meet again,” Bellamy corrects, but he lets go of her wrist so she can climb into the ambulance. She holds his eyes as the doors close. She can still see him through the rear glass, and he watches her leave until the ambulance turns a corner out of sight. She allows herself a moment of ‘what might have been’, and then focusses all her attention on her father.

“If you survive this,” Clarke whispers in his ear. “It’s still your turn to do the dishes.” He doesn’t respond, not really, but she sees his pulse spike, and stabilise again. She swallows thickly and nods, leaning back, letting the paramedic monitor him. She watches his face, eyes closed like he’s asleep, pallor pale, and she prays.

  


Then she notices something that sets off alarm bells.

“This isn’t the way to the hospital,” Clarke says, and her voice is light and curious, hiding her inner panic. The paramedic offers her something like a smile.

“No, it’s not,” she agrees. “It’s the way to the nearest chopper pad.” Clarke feels all the moisture in her mouth dry.

“Where are you taking us?” Clarke asks. Her voice doesn’t shake or break, and she feels like it’s an accomplishment. She knows she should be checking for a way to disable the paramedic and get her father and her out of the ambulance, but she can’t quite bring herself to mobilise.

“His orders,” the paramedic says, gesturing her still unconscious father. “It’s been set up as a contingency for a while.” The paramedic looks almost apologetic. “New start. You’re both burned here now.” Clarke nods, because it’s true, and stares at her hands. There are a lot of things she could think about missing. Her degree, her friends, her home, even Lexa. But all she can think when her vision blurs from staring is that she’s probably never going to see _him_ again.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really didn't know what to say about this one in the summary. So much happens...
> 
> And fun fact: two points at which this chapter stalled out - Jake getting shot and the ambulance doors closing. 
> 
> You nearly had the worst cliffhanger of all time. And now you just have an average cliffhanger. And tomorrow, I promise.
> 
> These author notes aren't weird enough to be up to par for this story. But how great is it that Finn hid under a table? I nearly had him run but hiding under a motherfrackin' table. The image just gets me.


	10. Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke adjusts to the new normal.

When she’s not thinking about it, Clarke’s new life suits her.

 

She’d thought about going back to nursing, finishing off her degree… but she just couldn’t bring that part of herself into the new world order. So mainly she paints, she trains, and she looks after her father. It’s been about six weeks, and Jake’s almost completely healed, but he’s still a little slow, and she’s enforcing a rather strict physiotherapy routine that he chafes against, wanting to push himself harder and do more. But Clarke cannot be moved, and Jake smiles as he grumbles.

 

They’d taken a four hour helicopter ride, and then they’d landed on a hospital roof. Jake had been in surgery for four hours. Clarke never left the hospital, didn’t even think to ask what city they were in. One week later, when Jake was well enough for discharge, there was another helicopter ride. And then they were chauffeured in a rusty jeep to a boat on a river. Clarke guided the boat with her father’s instructions, and they’d pulled up against a small jetty with a small boathouse, and a cottage set back on a hill. There was a town about a ten minute drive away, with most amenities. But mostly, they stay in the cottage and pretend that everything is normal. And for the most part, it is. Besides, it’s the most peaceful either of them have felt in years.

 

“Sometimes I think we should have done this years ago,” Jake says one evening, as they’re sipping drinks on the back porch, looking over the river. Clarke scoffs.

“What? Gotten you kidnapped and had me take on a terrorist organisation?” she teases. Jake rolls his eyes.

“It was hardly an organisation,” Jake tells her. “More of a group. Or a club.” Clarke laughs, and he smiles. “You laugh more here. More than you did back there.” Jake never calls it home. Clarke’s not sure what else to call it. But he’s right, she does laugh more here. The city never suited her, not really, and she likes being useful, likes the extra time with her father… likes that she doesn’t think about danger around every corner here.

“It’s nice out here,” Clarke agrees. But something is off in her voice and her father can hear it. He looks at her, inquiring.

“You can talk to me about it, if you want,” Jake says, turning away from his daughter. “I’ve seen it all. It’s okay if you’re a bit pissed I let it happen too.” Clarke shakes her head.

“No, it’s not your fault,” Clarke replies, reaching out to touch his forearm. “It’s their fault.”

“I’m trying to ask you if you’re okay with what happened,” Jake says, looking back at her. “I know you hurt people, probably killed them. That’s a big ask of a girl in her early twenties.” Clarke can’t help the small smile that spreads across her face, remembering Bellamy asking her if she was ready, if she was okay.

“I had help,” she says softly, looking back out at the river. The smile falls. “And you taught me well.”

“You miss him. The Blake boy,” Jake says thoughtfully. “Not the lives we left, or who you were. Him. He’s a question mark.” Clarke rolls her lips inwards, chewing on them, wishing her father wasn’t a secret agent and couldn’t guess everything about her.

“Him,” she agrees, because she doesn’t know what else to say. “All of them, though. Well, most of them.” Jake grins.

“Collins hiding under a table,” he says, and then laughs, and she joins him. Because it was so ridiculous. They lapse into silence after a moment.

“I thought I’d… I knew we’d leave,” Clarke says softly. “I just… I thought we’d have… time.” Jake nods.

“We had to go,” Jake says. “In a local hospital, I’d just have been a sitting duck. We couldn’t stay.”

“I know. I get it. I’m not… complaining. I’m just…,” Clarke’s not sure what to… how to say what she’s feeling.

“You thought you’d have time to say goodbye,” Jake finishes. “Or leave a forwarding address.” Clarke smiles.

“Something like that,” she agrees. “But I know we can’t go back. And leaving forwarding info is just giving the bad guys a head start.” Jake nods, and takes another sip of his drink. Clarke sighs.

“He looked after you,” Jake states. “I’d like to thank him for that if I see him again. He didn’t let you walk in alone. But... when you're in a situation like that with someone... sometimes things aren't as clear as they might be.” Clarke smiles, remembering how Bellamy’d been so grumpy about the way she’d let Miller in, how he’d warmed up slowly. The feeling that he’d never let her walk in alone.

“You’d have looked after him,” Clarke replies, taking another pull of her drink. “It’s… It’s over.” But she doesn’t believe it. Not really. Because she’d trying going back, being normal. And it wasn’t working. There was a gap now that wasn’t there before.

“You know, I could still reach out,” Jake tells her, his voice idle. “Make contact with Aurora.”

_"If you stay… If you stay, I’ll stay with you. If you want."_

Clarke swallows thickly, but shakes her head.

_"May we meet again.”_

“It’s… I think he could find me. If he wanted to,” Clarke replies, and Jake shrugs.

“It’s okay to do a little chasing sometimes, Clarke,” he teases her, and she smiles.

“Yeah, I’m going to start taking love life advice from you, weirdo,” she replies, and Jake laughs, and everything goes light again.

“I think you’ll be safe as long as you don’t take cooking lessons from me,” Jake rejoins and Clarke laughs too. But she’s still thinking about Bellamy Blake and whether or not it was anything but the moment.

  
  
  


Two days later, when Clarke notices she’s being followed, her first thought is ‘act normal’. Her second thought is: _fuck this guy_. Six weeks they’ve been here, building a life, developing a new normal. And then some asshole Sky Boxer that didn’t get caught in the sweep tracks them down and they’re going to have to move again. She really likes the cottage by the river. She’s got a knife in her boot, but she’s going to be outmatched if they’ve got a gun… unless she’s got the element of surprise. She’s still learning this town, but there’s a blind dumpster alley, and she’s got under a minute to make a decision. Calling her father might tip her tail off, and it won’t make her any safer. She’s got this.

 

She waits until the last available second, watches her tail get closer as she plays at window shopping. And then she ducks down the alley, pulls her knife, holding the handle in her fist, blade pointed across her body, facing down. She doesn’t want to straight up kill him. She’d need some answers first.

 

The sun’s angle is bad for visuals on the guy, but it doesn’t matter what he looks like, at least not yet. She gets him with the butt of the knife handle in the throat, using the twist of her body to bring him up against the alley wall. She can hear him choking, but he moves quickly, using his left arm to remove her hit, pushing the arm back down and he grips her arm, holding it behind her back, trying to twist her around, and she steps down on his instep, hard, and it shocks him into letting her go. He’s trying to say something, but Clarke’s not particularly interested in anything he has to say until he’s disabled. He goes to step forward, but she grabs his shoulders and drives her knee up into his stomach, doubling him over and winding him. She takes a step backwards, and then uses a sweeping ashi barai kick to bring him to the ground. He audibly exhales as he lands, and Clarke almost wants to smile, at him for being a wuss, and at her, for being so kick ass. She’s looking down at him, but all she can see is the back of his head. And it’s strangely familiar… but when he looks up at her, she’s still not expecting that it’s… For all that she’s just dropped him, hard, he’s smiling up at her. She stares down at him and drops her knife in shock.

“Should probably have expected that,” he wheezes out, and she drops to her knees beside him, hands framing his face. Bellamy’s face.

“Oh my god,” Clarke says, almost laughing with shock. “Hi.” Bellamy shifts, groaning as he moves into a sitting position, his legs stretched out and his back against the wall. Her hands move with him, from his face, down his chest, and then into her lap.

“Hi,” he grunts at her. “Ugh, you got me good with that knee.” Clarke snorts.

“Well you were following me! I thought you were a Sky Boxer,” she defends herself. Bellamy raises his eyebrows.

“And you didn’t just straight up kill him?” he enquires. Clarke rolls her eyes, but smiles. In fact, she’s not sure she’s stopped smiling since she recognised him.

“Intel first,” Clarke replies. “Revenge later.” He laughs a little, and then he reaches out and touches her face. She fights not to lean into it. Because there’s more than one reason for him being here, despite the way her heart is desperate to say out loud _'you fo_ _und me'_.

“Good plan,” Bellamy agrees. He shifts again, sitting up a little higher. He groans. “Okay, I think I’m good to go. Help me up.” Clarke shifts to her haunches, and offers her arm. Bellamy wraps himself around her, left arm over her body, right arm holding her right wrist. Clarke tries not to think about his warmth or his smell or why she suddenly feels like she’s home in a weird way she’d never thought about before. She takes his weight until he’s on his feet, and then he lets her go, but he stays close. Closer than just friends.

 

Clarke licks her lips and looks up at him. There's a million reasons why he could be here right now, and she needs to know it's not because of another risk, another reason to flee.

“Why are you here, Bellamy?” she asks, and she can’t hide the tension in her voice. A look of hurt flashes in his eyes, and he takes a step back, out of her space. But it’s a valid question, and it needs to be asked. She keeps hold of his eyes with hers.

“I thought you might… I wanted to see you,” Bellamy says, in the end. “We didn’t get a proper goodbye and then you were gone.” Clarke feels tears pricking at her eyes, and looks down, frowning, swallowing thickly. She gathers herself, and then looks up at him again, forcing a small smile.

“Yeah, we uh… I didn’t know it was going to be that quick,” Clarke admits, her voice soft. “I would have… I wanted to say…” But she trails off, not entirely sure how to finish the sentence. Bellamy nods, hint of a smile playing at his mouth.

“You weren’t easy to find,” Bellamy offers, and Clarke laughs again, small and quick.

“Can’t have been that hard,” Clarke teases him. “I haven’t been gone long. How long did it take you to notice I was missing?” He looks away, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment, deciding how much to disclose. Then he looks back to her, and his eyes are intense and warm and enthralling. Her breath catches.

“One day,” Bellamy says. “I went to the hospital to find you.” It’s not the answer she was expecting, and her brain stops working for a little bit.

“The world’s big brother,” Clarke says softly. He looks at her strangely. “Octavia. She said-,”

“I don’t want to be your big brother, Clarke,” he says, cutting her off. He takes a step forward, moving back into her space. “I didn’t come here because I thought you’d be not okay. I came here because…” Bellamy seems to lose track of what he’s saying, but he doesn’t look away from her.

“Because you wanted to know if it was more than the moment,” Clarke finished for him. He nods, looking at her like he’s hoping she means what it sounds like. “I was wondering the same thing,” she offers, and he steps in closer, his hands on either side of her face, and she’s leaning up on her toes, and he’s leaning down… and she places her hands flat on his chest, not pushing him back, just holding him in place. Because while he’s here because he wants to be, because he wants her, there’s more questions to ask.

“Did my father call you? Or your mother?” Clarke asks. It’s stupid that it matters to her, but it does. Bellamy shakes his head.

“No, why would he call? Is everything okay?” he asks, frowning slightly. Clarke smiles.

“No, everything’s fine,” Clarke says, slipping her hands up to his shoulders. “Everything’s great,” she adds, pulling him down to press his lips against hers. His hands grip her back, pressing her closer against him, as he deepens the kiss, leaning down into her, and Clarke wonders for a moment if she’s ever going to need to breathe real air again.

  
  


Later that night, Bellamy and Jake are talking by the grill, and Clarke is watching them from the back porch, sketchbook on her lap. She’s given up trying to draw, just watching the two men; two people that she trusts more than anyone else, laughing with each other, drinking beer, and grilling steaks. Her father raises his beer to Bellamy, leaving him in charge of the grill. It’s probably a wise decision given his ability to burn literally anything, and he comes and sits beside her.

“I’ve been talking to your young man,” Jake says. Clarke pulls a face.

“‘Your young man’? Ew. No one says that anymore,” she tells him, and Jake laughs.

“Bellamy, then,” Jake corrects. Clarke can’t help her smile. “He likes you.” Clarke laughs.

“I like him too,” Clarke replies. She’s quiet for a moment… and then she adds, “He came for me.” Jake smiles and nods.

“Yeah, he did,” Jake agrees. “But now he knows we’re here. And he’s got the life in his blood.” Clarke swallows, wondering exactly where this is going. She makes a noise of acknowledgement. “I asked him what his plan was, now that he’s found you.” Clarke’s throat closes over.

“What did he say?” Clarke asks, aiming for casual and probably completely failing if her father’s expression was any indication.

“He said that he planned on staying with you, if you want him to. He’s got a room at the B and B in town,” Jake said, almost idly. Clarke bites her lip, smiling. “I guess my question is, what do you want your life to look now, Clarke? Hiding out in this small town with me? Going back to nursing? Taking up the life?” He’s not looking at her, and Clarke can feel him not looking at her. She’s looking at Bellamy, working the grill. He glances over his shoulder at them, and he offers a grin. She smiles back. And then she sighs and looks at her father.

“I don’t know, Dad,” she says softly. “I guess… I can’t pretend it never happened. But I don’t want my life to look like that either. And… right now? I like it here. And I like Bellamy. I’m just going to figure shit out as I go, I think.” Jake nods, thoughtfully.

“That’s a pretty good answer. Think he’s going to be okay with it?” Jake asks. She smiles at her father.

“Yeah, I think he will. He’s always had one foot in each world. I think he’d like to pick a side with someone who gets it,” Clarke says thoughtfully.

“Well, then he gets the dad tick of approval,” Jake announces. “Not that he needed it.” She shoves him lightly, and tells him to shut up. But it means something, his approval. She’d never really brought anyone home before, no one had ever mattered enough. And it means more than she thought it would.

 

Jake goes back inside to chase down some more beers, and Bellamy beckons her over to the grill. When she gets there, she finds herself tucked into his side, like she belonged there. He kisses the side of her head, and she leans against his shoulder.

“I’m glad you found me,” Clarke tells him softly. It’s not the first time she’s said, and it probably won’t be the last.

“Your father’s done a great job of lightly interrogating me on my intentions,” Bellamy replies, and Clarke smiles.

“He mentioned something along those lines,” Clarke replies.

“How did I do?” Bellamy asks, and she can hear the fake lightness in his voice.

“You’re a terrible actor. I’m glad I didn’t give you speaking part,” Clarke tells him, and he bumps her with his hip, so she steps away, smiling up at him.

“I’m serious, how did I do?” Bellamy asks, and this time she the nervousness, and she smiles wider.

“You got the dad tick of approval,” Clarke tells him. “Apparently, you plan on staying with me, in town I mean, if I want you to.” She raises her eyebrows, and he runs a nervous hand through his hair. She’s pretty sure that she loves him, or that she's going to in that big permanent way you read about. It’s… it’s intensified by the circumstances of how they met, but it’s the little things she holds, not the adrenaline. The moments in between and the way he makes her feel like she doesn’t have to pretend.

“Yeah, it’s uh, it’s the loose plan,” Bellamy replies. He’s about to say something else, but Clarke cuts in.

“He also asked what I wanted my life to look like. If I wanted to be a nurse, or get into espionage, or stay here or whatever, and how you’d feel about the choices. Thought you might want to be an agent,” Clarke tells him. Bellamy nods.

“Good questions,” Bellamy says. “Do you have answers?” Clarke shrugs.

“I told him I’d figure it out as I went, but that I liked it here. That you’d probably be happy to do the same,” Clarke replied. “Was I right?”

“You want me to stay?” Bellamy asks, hopeful, going for vaguely interested as he poked at the steaks. Clarke reaches out and takes his hand.

“Yeah, I want you to stay. You’re kind of family, now,” Clarke tells him, pleased. Bellamy grins and kisses her quickly on the mouth, mindful of her father’s presence.

“I’d kind of like to figure it out as we go. And this place seems like a nice place to do it,” he tells her.

“What makes you so sure? It was twenty-four hours,” Clarke says, because it seems like the right thing to say. He puts down his tongs and looks at her, serious.

“Because I was kind of sure from the moment I met you. Tree branches in your hair, glass in your back, and a gun trained on me,” Bellamy tells her. “Because you’d do anything for your family, and because you make me feel…” his voice trails off, but he’s said enough.

“You kind of feel like home,” Clarke admits, and Bellamy grins widely.

“Yeah. That,” he tells her. “We’ll figure the rest out together.” Clarke steps back in, leaning against him.

“Together,” she repeats. And for the first time since that Friday… something feels truly normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, first up, JAKE LIVES. Raise your hand if you think Jake Griffin is awesome? (I'm raising my hand).
> 
> Second... the Bellarke. This was probably the hardest chapter to write. I knew I needed there to be a time jump, for Clarke to have this new life building when she reconnected with Bellamy. But I also didn't think it should be too long... because I think he'd look for her if she just left. If she hadn't said goodbye at the gate, if she'd just never made it back inside, do you think he'd ever have stopped looking for her behind every tree and up ever mountain? She's something else, to him. And I didn't want them to be "in love" because it was literally twenty four hours, just over. I wanted to play it more as an inherent trust, that feeling of rightness that they both wanted to explore. And I hope I did that justice too. 
> 
> The only other point I want to make is that Bellamy said a couple of chapters ago that he thought you should help people, if you could. And they do have these great skills they could use to do that. But there's more than one way to help people too. I don't think Clarke goes back to nursing, and I don't think Bellamy becomes a history professor or whatever it is he wanted to be doing with his history degree either. I think they probably start teaching self-defence in schools... they start a youth shelter that runs on empowerment and positivity and creating safe places. And I think every now and then, when they find out someone in the community has been hurt by the bad guys, or taken advantage of, they quietly go about making it right. Honestly? I don't think Clarke liked who she was as an agent, and Bellamy's not in love with the life either, or he'd already be in it. So this is my weird head canon about the future. 
> 
> Longest author's note ever? Longest author's note ever. 
> 
> In conclusion: I hope you enjoyed this story and I have been incredibly grateful for all of your comments and questions and headcanons as we've gone along. This was very challenging project for me, and out of my comfort zone, and I learned a lot. So thanks. You guys rock.

**Author's Note:**

> [You can find me on tumblr here.](http://wordy-anansi.tumblr.com)


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